DBG -- Dragonball Galaxy: The Return
by Becky Tailweaver
Summary: Future Trunks is leaving Earth to find the New Namek Dragonballs, but there's only one way for him to get there---by traveling through outer space. Danger, mystery, and adventure awaits him!
1. Another Way

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

  
__

Though there's no one there to guide you,   
No one to take your hand,   
But with faith and understanding,   
You will journey from boy to man.   
--Phil Collins, **"Son of Man"**

**Chapter 1: Another Way**

The evening winds whipped at the dusty, charred landscape of the Western Capitol, ruffling the scanty, stunted trees and whiffing small papers and trash about. Little of the city still stood; skyscrapers lay prone on the asphalt and apartment buildings were collapsed in on themselves. A few small businesses and markets rose in clusters here and there among the wrecked corpses of greater buildings. There were cleaned areas, repaved roads, bulldozers at rest, skeletons of new buildings--small evidences of the city-dwellers' attempt at reconstruction. Tiny, rickety homes seemed to lean on one another for support as they strove to stand upright. Faint slivers of light could be seen through a few thickly shaded windows. 

There were few trees, little grass, and most of the streets were cracked and pot-holed. A few signs and streetlamps attempted to come on, flickering, barely visible in the orange light of the late sunset. No cars moved, no airplanes buzzed overhead. There were no people out this late, but a few stray dogs fought each other over garbage in an alley. The city seemed a ghost town, despite the few, faint, struggling signs of new life. 

One place in all this half-dead city still held some hope. A large, domed building was lit brightly from the inside, many windows glowing warmly in the evening light. The surrounding grounds were much more green than the rest of the city, with a few cheerful, if thin, little trees and bright yet scanty flowers. The leaning sign near the front entrance still read in proud, faded red letters, "_Capsule Corporation_." 

One figure could be seen on the back lawn, taking a leisurely stroll of the grounds. It was a blue-haired woman, middle-aged yet still beautiful, carrying a steaming cup of coffee in one hand as she walked. During one point in her stroll, she looked up at the building, a tender smile appearing on her face. She sighed deeply, her attention focused on another figure that also partook of the evening. 

Bulma Briefs watched her son brooding on the balcony of Capsule Corporation's second floor patio. Her little foray into the back yard--what was left of it--gave her an ample upward profile view of Trunks, leaning on the railing, sword conspicuously absent. His short lavender hair blew about his sharp-featured face, his blue eyes focused on nothing but the distance. He had that brooding look about him that his long-dead father, Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans, had often displayed during quiet, lonely moments, and for a second Vegeta's image was superimposed over Trunks in her mind. 

She had a pretty good idea that Vegeta was on both their minds. 

Trunks hadn't said much about his father beyond his initial excitement upon his return. He'd bubbled at her happily with the whole story, proudly telling her how his father had furiously attacked Cell for his sake, how Vegeta had trained with him--trained _him_--for the intense battles with the biogenetic warrior, how glad he was to know his father, and everything he'd learned about his power and the pride of the Saiyan race. When the radio had announced the encroaching androids' latest target, the pressing need to defeat them had turned his joy to hard, quiet rage, but the sheer, exhuberant happiness on his face for the duration of that short/long story had let a ray of light into her heart. Smiling in memory, she tried to picture what Vegeta might have been like, had he ever been that happy. Just change Trunks' coloring and hairstyle, and you had it exactly... 

A cold breeze whipped her hair, making her shiver, snapping her out of her reverie. It was getting late, almost supper time, and Trunks would come in hungry. Turning to go back in the house, Bulma chuckled softly to herself. Her son might be able to stare off into space for hours on end, but that Saiyan stomach of his would always bring him back to her. 

* * * * *

"Hi, Mom. Dinner ready?" 

Bulma smiled, her back to him. Regular as clockwork, her boy; it was six PM on the dot. "No, I'm not quite finished yet." 

"Can I help you with anything?" 

"No, that's okay--oh, would you mind setting the table?" 

"No problem." 

Bulma suppressed a giggle. It never failed--whenever she asked him to do such inane things as setting the table, taking out the trash, or washing the outside upper-story windows, she always had to bite back a humerous laugh at the thought of an unbelievably powerful Saiyan warrior helping with housework. But Trunks was so willing, even when she needed the car fixed or groceries fetched; Bulma imagined she'd have gotten one of those _glares_ from Vegeta if she'd ever asked _him_ to wash windows. 

"You making beef stew or something?" Trunks asked, fetching two non-cracked bowls from the cupboard. 

"Yeah," Bulma sighed. Her son's sensitive nose would have told him the minute he walked in the door what was on the stove. "I was a bit tired today and canned beef-and-noodle soup was all I could come up with." 

"That's fine, Mom," Trunks replied affably. "I'm so hungry right now it doesn't matter to me." 

"That's my boy--you bottomless pit on two legs, you," she said affectionately. 

He grinned sheepishly and ducked his head. Bulma smiled at him as she brought the two oversized potholders over to the table so she could set out the two hot pots of soup. Struggling with her puffy oven mitts, she heaved one large pan off the stove. 

Trunks caught the pot as she turned, lifting it effortlessly out of her grip, not even fazed by the heat. "Mom, let me help you with these," he scolded. "I don't want you to hurt yourself lifting heavy things." 

Bulma shook her finger at him, mock-severely, slipping off the oven mitts and smacking him in the shoulder with them. "I was lifting _and throwing_ large heavy objects long before you ever existed, you big showoff. Don't start babying me all of a sudden." 

Trunks carried the second pot. "I can lift anything for you; you only have to ask. Besides, you were a lot younger before I--" He broke off, sitting down to his place, his face reddening. "Sorry." 

Bulma sat down herself, and smiled gently at him. "That's all right, son. I know I'm not getting any younger. And I know that no matter how much I might complain about it, I'll still be an old lady." 

Trunks looked up at her askance, the ladlefull of soup halfway to his bowl. "What?" 

"I don't let delusions of eternal youth and beauty cloud my mind, Trunks," she explained. "I know it's a fact that I'm an old woman now. There's no denying it. I just wish..." 

"But..." Trunks set down his now-full bowl but did not begin to eat. He seemed to be struggling for words. "But...you're not _old_, Mom. You won't die soon." The idea of his mother succumbing to anything--even to inevitable old age--was something he did _not_ want to have to face. She was everything to him--the only other person who mattered so much to him; the only other person who could possibly mean more to him than his master and best friend Gohan. He just couldn't bear the thought of losing her. 

Bulma shrugged. "Ah, well. At least I'll see Vegeta again. And Goku, and Yamcha..." She trailed off, her eyes suddenly misty. "It's just as well your father isn't here. All he'd have to say would be smart remarks about my gray hair." 

"Father wouldn't do stuff like that." Trunks frowned. 

"He _always_ did stuff like that." Bulma sighed again, but it was only a wistful sound. "But despite all that, I can't help wishing I still had him..." 

Trunks could think of nothing more to say; instead, he picked up his spoon and began to eat. And afterwards, when he was gone, Bulma had to admit to herself that although every drop of stew in both pots was gone, it was one of the tidiest meals she'd ever had with a Saiyan. 

* * * * *

Trunks didn't go to bed immediately after dinner and practice, like he usually did. Instead, he strapped on his sword and flew off into the gathering darkness, just wandering through the sky and feeling the cool wind in his face. 

He didn't travel in any particular direction; he wasn't thinking anything in particular, either. He flew aimlessly, very fast and very high. He was just mulling over his strange conversation with his mother; about her growing old, about how she still wished his father were alive. It wasn't any different than most of the other converstations they'd had lately, and she had seemed so depressed. Then again, she'd been depressed ever since he'd done away with that cursed creature Cell, almost a month ago. 

Trunks shook his head; his mother had been so down for a month? Where had the time gone? And what could he do to help? He couldn't bring Vegeta back from the dead; every avenue of possibility was long ago exhausted. There was no way on Earth to bring his father back. 

He didn't know when the idea popped into his head, or how his mind had come up with it. He thought it had something to do with the bowl-shaped structure he saw ahead of him. 

_Kami's Lookout. _

Mr. Popo. 

Shenlon. 

**Dragonballs!**

It suddenly clicked in his brain that although Piccolo and his counterpart Kami were gone, Kami's assistant Mr. Popo might still be living on the ancient structure in the sky. It also occurred to him that Mr. Popo might have an answer, or at least a helpful tip, for the question that now burned within him. Picking up more speed, he angled toward the old Lookout. 

Landing on the outer platform softly, he advanced over the smooth tiling towards the darkened building in the center. He found himself...nervous, more so than many times before. This wasn't like the anxious, yearning anticipation of a fight--it was more like the inner quaking he'd felt the first time he'd stood eye-to-eye with his Past-Timeline father. What was it about this silent place that kindled those kinds of feelings in him? 

The ki was _there_ almost before he realized it. He whirled, sword instantly in hand, and froze. 

"Can I help you, young man?" asked the small, rotund, black-skinned man standing there. He wore a turban, ornate vest, and baggy white pants, and stood completely relaxed, staring blandly at Trunks. 

The young Saiyan didn't move. "Hey, you're--" 

The black man didn't move either. "I am called Mr. Popo, young man. May I ask what you are doing here?" 

Trunks instantly relaxed, his sword back in its sheath before Mr. Popo could take another breath. He'd heard a lot about this strange little servant of Kami's--even met him a few times during his adventures in the past. But _this_ Popo didn't know him. "I came to ask you a question, Mr. Popo." 

"Me?" For the first time, Popo looked surprised. "No one's ever come just to see _me_." 

"First time for everything," Trunks said. "Will you listen to my question?" 

"I will listen, but I don't know if I can answer." 

"That's good enough." Trunks took a deep breath. "Here goes: Mr. Popo, do you know of any way that the Dragonballs can be re-created?" 

"Why, yes," said the short man, as if it were obvious. "Of course." 

Trunks smiled in relief. "Great. Can you do it?" 

Popo looked taken aback. "Oh, _I_ couldn't do it. That's a question to ask the Guardian." 

"But...he's..." 

"Right here." 

For the second time, Trunks whirled, but this time without the sword. The voice that interrupted his stammering was completely unfamiliar, but the figure was not. "A N-Namek?" he struggled to say. 

The young adult Namekkian before him smiled gently. "That's right, Trunks." 

"You--you're not Kami!" 

"Of course not," Dende stated, looking slightly worried, as if Trunks were having trouble grasping latent fact. "Kami died with Piccolo. My name is Dende. New Namek sent me as a replacement." 

"Wait a second..." Trunks frowned at the green face, bewildered. "Dende? But...!" 

"Oh, I'm sure Gohan has mentioned me," the Namek said, slightly sad. "We were the best of friends on Old Namek." 

Trunks stepped back, face blank with surprise. "You're _that_ Dende!" The Namek he'd known in the past by that name had been only a child--but this young Namek stood taller than Trunks, his smooth green skin a shade darker than the child Namek's had been. 

Dende, Guardian of Earth, smiled at him. "I am. You came with a request, Trunks?" 

Trunks nodded, glad that _something_ was staying the same between the two timelines. His own time-hops and Cell's meddling had messed things up enough. "I need to know if the Dragonballs can be re-created, Dende. I have a wish I want to make." 

Dende's smile turned sad. "I'm afraid I can't do anything for you, my friend. I do have the power to create Dragonballs, but not the knowlege. I'm sorry." 

The young half-Saiyan's heart fell with an almost audible crash. His posture drooping almost imperceptably, he nodded resignedly. "Sorry to have bothered you, Dende. Thanks for your time." 

"Will you lose hope so soon, warrior?" Dende asked after him. "All is not lost. There is a way to do what you seek. The way will be long and hard, but it is a way." 

"Really?" Trunks whirled, blue eyes brightening with hope. "Tell me!" 

Dende leaned on Kami's staff. "The Dragonballs of this planet are unavailable at this time, but if you were to find _other_ Dragonballs, you could wish Piccolo and Kami back to life. And your other warriors as well. With Kami returned, he could teach me the art of creating Dragonballs. And Earth would have her own set again!" 

Trunks nearly leaped up and down. "Yes! What a great idea! I'll just get Kami back and--" He paused, frowning. "Wait a second. What other Dragonballs are there?" 

Dende gestured skyward with his staff. "The only others in existence that I know of are on New Namek, my people's home. You could go there and ask a wish of them. If you were to tell them I sent you, they would be glad to help. Goku and his friends saved their lives long ago." 

"_New Namek?_" Trunks burst out. "How in the universe could I get to New Namek? I don't even know where it is; I couldn't find it, let alone fly there! What am I supposed to do--_teleport?_" 

"No," Dende said patiently. "Your mother still has the specs for the ships her family built to send her and the others to Old Namek, doesn't she? She can build you a spaceship--just like that ingenious time machine of yours. But I'm afraid I don't know where New Namek is; you see, I was wished here by my fellows when it became known that Kami no longer answered the Elders' calls." 

"Even if Mom could make me a ship, how would I get there?" Trunks asked. "If I can't find the coordinates, how can I program the ship?" 

"That's where an old friend of Goku's might come in handy," Dende replied with a small grin. "Have you ever heard of King Kai? He's the ruler of the North Galaxy. He trained Goku in the art of Kaiyo-Ken and the Spirit Bomb. He has the ability to locate almost anything by its energy signature." 

"King Kai? Hm, I think Mom might've mentioned him once..." 

"Good." Dende nodded. "But I must warn you; I'll have to take you into the Realm of the Afterlife, which is not entirely legal for a living entity, and you'll have to travel Snake Way, the bridge over Hell." 

Trunks' mouth fell open as his eyes widened. "Over...Hell?" 

"Snake Way is incredibly long, Trunks. It took Goku two days at full speed to return from King Kai's planet." 

"Tuh--two _days?_" 

"Is there a problem?" Dende asked innocently, seeing the young Saiyan's glassy-eyed look. 

"My...my mom...I can't leave her alone for...four whole days!" Trunks protested. "She'll think I died or something!" 

"Your mother will be fine, Trunks; you've left her alone before." 

Trunks took a deep breath. "Well...I at least need to tell her my plans; she can get started on the ship while I'm away. Four days trip, huh?" 

Dende nodded. 

"Okay. I'll go tell Mom what's up, get a good night's sleep, and I'll get here first thing in the morning." 

"A fine plan, warrior." Dende smiled again, pleased that everything was falling into place so easily. 

"Thanks so much, Dende--and you too, Mr. Popo!" Trunks leaped up off the platform, hovering. "I'll see you soon!" With a flash of ki, the young half-Saiyan vanished in the distance. 

"Mr. Popo." 

"Yes, Guardian?" 

"I believe, old friend, that it will take Trunks considerably less than four days to complete his journey." 

"I agree, Guardian. But the one that comes after it will be much longer." 

Dende frowned. "Yes; I see a shadow in his future. The way he will take will not be as direct as he anticipates; a long and winding path awaits him." 

"Will it be so long?" 

"A long road, Mr. Popo. He will be tested; not just in his fighting prowess, but in his strength of heart. I only hope he will prove worthy." 

"He is the son of Vegeta, Guardian Dende. He is just as determined as his father." 

Dende smiled once more. "Yes; stubborn as Vegeta--but his heart is good." 

* * * * *

_Clunk, clunk!_

"Mom?" 

Bulma turned over in her bed, dreaming the voice of her son was calling her out of the darkness... 

"Mom! Hey, _Mom!_" 

Bulma jerked upright in her bed, realizing the voice of her son _was_ calling her out of the darkness. "Huh? Trunks? What are you...?" Not quite coherent and awake yet, the President of Capsule Corporation stumbled out of her blankets and over to the window her son was tapping urgently on, throwing it open. A blast of cold breeze made her shiver as Trunks stepped in from the balcony to take her in a big bear hug and spin her around. He was grinning wildly, and cold air surrounded him; he smelled of wind and sky, of male-Saiyan sweat and ozone from his power--scents so familiar that in her half-asleep state she nearly lost herself in a memory of Vegeta, the way he would arrive late at night so much the same... 

"I found a way! Mom, I can do it--I found a way! All you gotta do is build me a space ship and I'll go into outer space and make a wish on the original Dragonballs and we can have Father and the others back!" Trunks took a deep breath and prepared to launch into another narrative, but Bulma beat him to it. 

"What on Earth are you talking about?" she asked, blinking and yawning. "Son, it's almost midnight and you're babbling like a six-year-old. Can't you tell me about your day in the morning? And you should be in bed--" She paused. "What did you say about your father?" 

"I found a way to bring him back!" Trunks repeated. 

It took Bulma's brain a full and exact five-point-zero-seven seconds to process that statement. "Bring...Vegeta...back?" 

Trunks nodded urgently. "I went and talked to Dende--he's the Guardian of Earth now, did you know that? He said that if I can get to New Namek and their Dragonballs, I can wish Father and the others back to life with them. Namek's Dragonballs are very powerful. We can get _everyone_ back!" 

"Dende?" Bulma was still in information-processing mode. "Bring...everyone back? Vegeta...Goku..." She gasped. "And Piccolo!" 

"Yeah! And when we have him, we'll be able to get Earth's Dragonballs back too!" 

Bulma stared at her son for a minute. "Trunks, you are a genius." 

Trunks scratched the back of his head, looking for a moment vaguely like Goku. "Well, it wasn't my idea...Dende actually told me about it..." 

Bulma suddenly seemed to snap into beautiful genius mode. "Trunks, this is great! And you're the only one who can do this! Poor Dende must have been waiting so long for you to be ready!" 

"So...I know this is a lot to ask but...can you build me a space ship?" 

"Do you even have to ask?" Bulma replied. "Did you forget who you're talking to? It'll be easy!" 

Trunks grinned widely. "That's great! I'll have to go for a bit first thing in the morning; I need to go talk to King Kai--Dende's gonna get me special dispensation to take a short trip down Snake Way. I'll get the coordinates from King Kai and be back in a few days." 

"A few days? I should be done with design by then, and you can help me with the construction." Bulma was now in brillant engineer mode. 

"I'm always willing to help," Trunks said. "Will you be okay here alone?" 

His mother grinned at him. "Trunks. After everything that has happened in the last twenty years, do you honestly think something horrible will happen without you here to babysit me? Of course I'll be fine!" 

"Well...okay then. Sorry for waking you up like that." 

It seemed that Bulma's attention had turned mostly inward as she was busy making plans for her ship designs. But she smiled brightly at him anyway. "Oh, that's no problem. Your father used to do that a lot! He was such a Romeo sometimes!" 

Trunks reddened. "Uh, yeah..." 

Bulma blinked at him. "What are you still doing here? You've got a lot of work ahead of you! Off to bed!" 

"But...what about you?" 

"I've got stuff to do, too. Go on, scat! Get out of here!" Bulma shooed him out her bedroom door, admonishing him to get his backside to bed so he could get up bright and early for his trip tomorrow. With that, the door closed in his face, and his keen Saiyan ears could hear his mother's footsteps heading for her mini-office in the next room over. "Wow," was all he could say for several minutes. He hadn't seen her with this much energy in quite a while. 

_Great,_ he thought. _She's gonna pull an all-nighter, and probably several more until I'm on my way to New Namek. Maybe I should've waited until tomorrow morning to tell her...but then she'd have been mad at me because I didn't tell her the good news as soon as I got back..._

With a heavy sigh that proclaimed the universal truth that sons would never understand mothers, Trunks trundled off to his room, his thoughts darkened with worries of tomorrow. 

* * * * * 

Trunks' first impression of Snake Way was that it was boring. It was as long and boring as you could get, with absolutely nothing but more road as far as the eye could see. Far back in the distance behind him, barely visible to even Saiyan eyes, was King Yemma's palace. 

The King of the Dead had not been too happy with the prospect of letting a living mortal pass through his gates and to cross the bridge over Hell to a sacred place. But with a few kind words from Dende--and a reminder that Dende's people owed a life-debt in part to Trunks' father, who had helped hold off Freeza long enough for Goku to recover--the giant, gruff monarch let the half-Saiyan pass. But, King Yemma declared, one week was his stay limit. None of that "stay for a year for special training" stuff. 

Though Trunks doubted he would need a week; Korin had given him two senzu beans to help with his journey, so he wouldn't need to rest. All he had to do was fly. 

Trunks chuckled as he jogged, waiting for the palace to be completely out of sight before he turned on the steam. _King Yemma thought Goku was fast twenty-odd years ago, before he was even a Super Saiyan?_ He grinned eagerly, his face falling into lines just like his sire's. _Well, King Yemma, you ain't seen nothin' yet!_

Gathering his energy, Trunks let it fill and overflow him. With a yell of jubulation, he let his ki expand, not caring who in this outer dimension saw it shine. The golden aura exploded around him, lifting and changing his hair to gold, subtly increasing the size of his frame to contain the new power. Giving an excited leap, he launched into the air, speeding like a falling star. His flaring power streamed out behind him like a comet's tail and a thundrous rushing filled the air as he surpassed the speed of sound. Watching the golden clouds flashing by beneath him, he guaged himself as traveling at about eight hundred miles per hour. At this speed, ten thousand miles wouldn't take him much more than twelve hours. And with the senzus in his pocket, it would be a non-stop flight to Kai's Place.   


* * * * *

Far below, two warriors leagues distant in different parts of Hell raised their heads at the rising flash of Super Saiyan power that passed overhead. Both grinned when they sensed the golden energy. 

One of them gave a dark chuckle, his grin turning to a smile that was almost...proud. He ran a hand through spiky dark hair as he stared upwards, as though he could see through the impenetrable clouds, before returning to his shadowy abode in a dark corner of Hell. 

The other's grin became something twisted, and his chuckle became an eager, insane laugh. Instead of melting back into the shadows, this one rose from his hiding place and made for the bloodstained sky. 

__

And you'll be in my heart   
Yes, you'll be in my heart   
From this day on,   
Now and forever more.   
--Phil Collins, **"You'll Be In My Heart"**

  
_To be continued..._


	2. Warrior of Hellfire

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

**Chapter 2: Warrior of Hellfire**

Trunks yawned, shook himself, and increased his speed. Rubbing his eyes and frowning, he mentally chided himself for nodding off in midair. Although he wouldn't exactly drop like a stone if he did fall asleep, he would gradually lose speed and altitude until he fell from the air altogether. _This is the single most **boring** flight I've ever had. It's like a slow airplane ride!_ He'd lost track of how many hours he'd been flying. 

Nothing but puffy golden clouds as far as the eye could see; perhaps, from Gohan's description, this was where the Flying Nimbus clouds came from. Gohan had spoken of his father's little golden cloud often enough, telling of the exhilarating rides he'd had as a child. Trunks sighed, envying his deceased mentor's idyllic early childhood. At least Gohan had gotten to live a normal life for a while, in his family's little house in the woods. Heck, he'd even gotten to keep his tail long enough to remember it. Trunks didn't remember his; it had been removed when he was an infant to prevent disasters from happening, leaving only a barely noticeable circular scar above what would be a human's tailbone. 

_I've never even seen an Ozaru,_ Trunks thought. _It can't be all that bad. What was all the fuss about? Nothing a Super Saiyan couldn't handle..._ Not for the first time, Trunks wondered what it was like to actually have a Saiyan tail. One of the many things he'd never experience...and hadn't even been able to ask his Past Time father about. 

"Why did I have to grow up in a living hell?" he wondered loudly, just to hear a voice, just to hear a noise other than the wind rushing past his ears. 

"You should see what it's like actually _living_ in Hell!" 

Trunks nearly fell out of the air in shock at the harsh, gruff voice that echoed over the clouds. As it was, he dropped his speed and scanned his surroundings. Wary of attack, he pulled in to land on the stretch of Snake Way beneath him. "Who's there?" he demanded, keeping his golden aura flaring protectively around himself. 

There was a gravelly chuckle behind him, and he whirled. A tall man stood there, wearing battered leather armor. He had short, wildly spiky black hair. Something about his hair, face, and eyes made Trunks think of Goku, but the resemblance ended there. The stranger's voice was hard and his expression cruel. 

"Hello, little Prince," the stranger said with a feral smirk. "So, you think you're a Super Saiyan, do you?" 

"What are you talking about?" Trunks demanded. "I _am_ a Super Saiyan! Who are you?" 

The stranger grimaced, baring his teeth. "I am Lerzett! I was born a thousand years ago, and I am the _true_ Super Saiyan!" 

Trunks jerked back, surprised. "What? Impossible!" He noticed at that moment the furred brown tail wrapped like a belt around the other's waist. 

"I am the one they speak of in legend," Lerzett said, his voice proud and dark. "I am the one feared by all the enemies of my race! I am he who first struck fear into the heart of King Cold, and turned Freeza a coward who destroyed the Saiyans rather than face the likes of me! You are but a false offshoot, a mistake who shouldn't even exist! Look you, little Prince, how the other pretenders have fallen! That one called Kakarot, and his whelp, known even in the pits of Hell for their power--and even your noble sire, who tried so hard to reach this gloried state! Great warriors though they were, they were not worthy! I, only _I_ have the true power!" 

"In case you hadn't noticed, you're dead too," Trunks stated, keeping in his fighting stance. "What makes you so great?" 

"I am the legendary Super Saiyan!" Lerzett bellowed, clenching his fists. "That fateful day, when I first came into my power--it was so great, I could hardly control myself. The power...so bright! So pure! But I foolishly looked upon the moon...and when I became a great golden Ozaru, all control was lost. I destroyed myself, my team, and the planet upon which we stood in a single great explosion." 

"Nice job," Trunks commented. 

"But things have changed," Lerzett said with a snarl. "Now, after a millenium of training, I have reached my peak! I am the greatest! And I shall prove it." 

"What do you want from me?" 

"Simple." Lerzett smiled horribly. "Your death." 

Trunks bared his teeth. "You wish." 

"You are the last of the false Super Saiyans. When I have destroyed you, I shall have the power to break the bonds of the dead and return to life! The universe will be mine to command!" 

"You can't do that!" 

"Watch me, you little half-breed!" 

Trunks gritted his teeth, suddenly stung. He knew that he was a hybrid, the mixture of two races, but he'd never had someone hurl that name in his face like an insult. In fact, no one had ever said it to him in his life--not even the worst of his enemies. "All right then," he growled, setting his feet, clenching his fists, and gathering his power. "Come try and take me!" 

Lerzett screamed, a sound that echoed with madness. Golden power flared around him, washing his hair yellow and his eyes blue--but not aqua green, like Trunks' and the others. The brown tail became the color of the hair, and uncoiled and lashed with a life of its own. 

"Is that all you've got?" Trunks sneered as Lerzett reached his peak. The last Prince of the Saiyans laughed a laugh that might have come from Vegeta himself--and let his ki explode. 

"What power...!" Lerzett actually flinched back before steeling himself. He couldn't _sense_ Trunks' energy, but he could _feel_ the force of it washing over him; pushing through his own aura, tingling his skin, blowing through his hair. He gritted his teeth. "No matter--your fireworks can't save you!" The long-dead Saiyan charged, and the battle was joined. 

Trunks easily blocked and dodged the maddened Saiyan's blows. The other wasn't even at the level Goku had been when he'd defeated Freeza during his first experience with Super Saiyan. Lerzett talked big, and had probably been the hottest warrior of his generation, but he apparently had no firsthand experience with the powerful beings that existed in this time. He knocked Lerzett away yet again, causing the other to howl in rage. 

"Impossible! How can such a whelp have more power than I?" 

"Times have changed, old man," said Trunks. "You've been left behind." 

"_**Nooo!**_" Lerzett charged up and let loose with a barrage of energy spheres. Trunks deflected them all, bouncing them away with one hand. Lerzett screamed again, and this time fired an enormous golden blast. 

Trunks centered his hands on his enemy and cut loose with a yell. The massive beam smashed into Lerzett's, driving it back. Lerzett roared as the beam struck him, forcing him back, burning him and hurling him far away. 

"Heh." Trunks puffed out a breath. "Some people..." He leaped out of the way of another massive ki-blast that hurled his way. 

"Do not think me defeated so easily, pup!" Lerzett did a flyby, blasting away at him, impacting Snake Way as Trunks dodged. 

"You fool!" Trunks growled. "Go back to Hell where you belong! I've got no more time to waste with you!" 

"You're the fool, little half-breed." Lerzett laughed in that bone-chilling way again. "You've underestimated your opponent. Did your parents teach you nothing of your race?" Lerzett's manical laugh grew louder. 

"What are you babbling about?" Trunks snarled. "There's nothing you can do to me now! I'm much stronger than you!" 

Lerzet merely chuckled. "So you are, little Prince, so you are. You have the edge in power over me now. But I have something you do not!" 

Trunks braced himself as the glow appeared between Lerzett's palms. If the idiot wanted to continue the fight, it was no concern of Trunks' if he wanted to get himself killed--again. But why was he shooting that energy ball straight up into the air and not at Trunks himself...? 

"Little Prince," Lerzett snarled, "I have learned a great deal from the dead warriors of this era. This technique is more than valuable. I'm grateful to the warriors that gave it to me!" The insane Super Saiyan laughed loudly again and turned his gaze to the big white ball. 

Trunks looked up at it as well, wondering what horrendous attack would come from it. Was it like a Spirit Bomb? Some sort of massive explosive? Or even a sharp, cutting attack? Something about the light made him tingle with danger. 

But its soft glow also ran shivers of a primal wildness through him. The same as the way he felt back home, when on some nights he would feel so restless that he had to get up and go explore, flying over the mountains or stalking through the woods, the moon shining round and bright above him... 

_The moon!_

The sudden, flaring increase in his opponent's ki brought Trunks' head back around to see Lerzett in the throes of some awful change. The half-human warrior stared in shock as the other Saiyan's body twisted and enlarged. He fell back in horror at the massive transformation, in awe of the gigantic golden beast that now stood before him on the narrow span of Snake Way. He felt a shiver of fear when the crimson eyes turned to him and the long jaws parted in a grin to reveal massive, sharp teeth, the canines easily as long as his own sword. 

"Now what do you think?" came the rough, rumbling bass voice. "You're barely a mouthful to me now!" 

Trunks stepped back again, feeling suddenly like an ant in the face of this fifty-foot monster. The odd mentions of Ozaru form increasing one's ki came back to him; those times long ago when Gohan had made an offhand comment...something about Vegeta's power rising by a factor of ten? Trunks believed it; the gigantic were-beast before him now had a fighting power that was nearly equal to his own. Although still not as powerful as himself, he didn't know what Lerzett could do with his new form. 

_Dammit, nobody ever told me anything about Ozaru!_ he mentally groused, even as he shivered with revulsion at the thought of the transformation--and the knowlege that another horrifying creature just like this one was buried somewhere within him. And only a little while ago he'd been wondering what it would be like! Well, shoot, he didn't want to twist his body into a monster like _that!_ Just seeing it was scary enough, thank you very much! 

Lerzett didn't give him time to contemplate further; the golden Ozaru leaped forward with shocking speed for a creature so large, attempting to flatten him to the road with his huge palms. Trunks took to the air, darting, dodging the massive, hairy limbs and looking for an opening. 

Lerzett was overpoweringly fast and incredibly strong. Snake Way groaned beneath his weight. Trunks gasped and dodged a blasting breath of ki, so close he could feel the boiling heat of it. Just his luck; Lerzett could fly just as well in this form, too. A backhand caught him with bruising force, flinging him out over the clouds. He struggled to right himself, then dodged just in time to avoid Lerzett's charge. 

_I could just leave, but I don't want to lead this damn ape all the way to King Kai's!_ Trunks thought, teeth gritted. He ducked another paw-swipe and hid under a curve of Snake Way, buying himself a few seconds' breathing room. _Besides, who knows what trouble he'll cause if he escapes Heaven's Gate?_

"Time to end this," he whispered, bringing out his razor-edged sword. He'd teach this overstuffed gorilla a thing or two. 

"Where are you, little flea?" Lerzett rumbled, casting about. "I hear you, smell you--I know you've not fled!" 

Trunks tensed, braced, then darted out of his hiding place, sword swinging. He caught Lerzett across the back, opening a bloody gash across the golden pelt. The beast howled in anger. 

"Damn, the little flea bites!" Lerzett roared, both mocking and enraged. "I'll crush you out of existence! The Deathking won't be able to find all your pieces!" 

Trunks flew in and out, dodging ki-blasts and flailing limbs, managing to get a few cuts in here and there. Lerzett's ki-shield was up now--he was on-guard to Trunks' sword--and it was particularly thick because of his current form. Trunks took several glancing hits; bruised and bloodied, he continued to dodge. Several times, he came close to getting incinerated, the leading edge of a massive ki-blast clipping him in the side. He took the full brunt of another shot; he shrugged it off, but it nearly cracked his shield. He had to use all of his agility to keep from being snatched out of the air by either of Lerzett's van-sized hands, or struck by that tail, which he used like a whip... 

_The tail!_

Trunks remembered his mother's words about the tail being an utter necessity for a Saiyan's transformation, which was why Trunks' own fifth appendage had been removed. Without it, any Ozaru would immediately revert back to his humanoid form, and have even less power than when he started out. 

_Yes! If I can get that tail, I'll have him!_ Trunks let an eager grin grace his features. He feinted toward's Lerzett's face, throwing the Ozaru off-balance and forcing him to step back. While the Ozaru teetered, Trunks dove beneath his legs and straight up, aiming for the tail--as thick as his own body--that presented an easy target-- 

The target vanished when Lerzett backflipped away from him. Trunks, overbalanced from his attempted swing, cursed out loud his lousy memory--he'd forgotten again the great beast's uncanny agility. He didn't have time to say anything more before a massive paw struck him in midair, knocking him to the roadbed like a meteorite and flinging his sword out of his grasp. 

Before he could even finish clearing his head, Lerzett had him in his grip. 

The massive paw squeezed him with crushing force, pinning his arms to his sides and grinding his bones together. Trunks grunted as he resisted with all his strength, trying to force the ape's fingers open. 

"Heh heh heh!" the Ozaru laughed, a thick, choking sound, holding the half-Saiyan close to his face. "I have you, little mouse. You can't escape me now! I'll enjoy crushing you like an insect. I'll pulp your bones and savor your taste! Your power will feed me..." 

Trunks gaped up at the crimson eyes, the grinning toothy muzzle, and realized without a doubt that Lerzett was totally insane. He stifled a cry as the grip grew horribly tight, forcing the breath out of him and making his ribs creak ominously. 

A sudden sense of panic welled up within him. He was afraid--suddenly, fear dominated his mind, bringing with it desperation and frantic action. Long ago, he'd discovered as a child that he was claustrophobic; his mother later told him she'd discovered, from her years with Vegeta, that it was a trait common to the animalistic Saiyan race. All of them, from the mightiest prince to the humblest third-class warrior, feared being enclosed, bound, or trapped. Suffocation or a strong sense of inescapable restraint triggered the highly reactive panic state--a dangerous state when dealing with a Saiyan. 

"It's useless to struggle, little Prince!" Lerzett growled. "Your life is mine!" 

Trunks snarled wordlessly, eyes wild and teeth bared. He couldn't breathe, so he made no sound, but as his eyes went wide and blank with breathless panic, golden power suddenly exploded from him in a hot, terrible rush, ripping through Lerzett's giant paw. The furious, panicked blast of ki incinerated skin, tore through muscle, and splintered bone, leaving the Ozaru's hand a burned, bloody, fingerless mess. The massive burst singed most of the skin from Lerzett's arm, shoulder chest, and face; one eye was irrepairably scorched, half-blinding him. A good portion of the fangs on one side of his mouth were broken out and bleeding, and most of the ear on that side was gone. Trunks was dropped like a hot rock as the beast reared back and howled in pain; in one flaring moment Lerzett had gone from a confident captor to a badly wounded monster. 

Free, Trunks fell to the road, gasping for air and holding his bruised ribs, feeling shaky from his rush of adrenaline and drained from his uncontrolled discharge of ki. Staggering to his feet and halfheartedly brushing at his gore-spattered clothes, he struggled to maintain his Super Saiyan state after going so long without oxygen. Desperate, he cast about for his sword and spotted it resting just at the edge of the road ten yards away behind Lerzett. 

"You little half-breed bastard!" Lerzett roared, clutching at his mangled hand and flailing about, trying to crush the half-Saiyan that darted past him. Trunks dodged and went for the sword. "I'll kill you! I'll stomp you to pulp and burn you to ashes!" 

Lerzet went after him. Trunks dived beneath a paw-swipe, rolled, and grabbed for his weapon. 

"I'll wipe every trace of you out of this world and then I'll kill everyone who knows your name! I'll--_aaaaagh!_" 

Lerzett found his good hand pinned flat to Snake Way by Trunks' razor-sharp sword. Panting, Trunks held firm to the handgrip and kept the blade lodged deep in the flesh and stone, exherting all the ki-force he could muster to keep that hand down. "Now...you..." he gritted out, a corona of yellow-gold fire building around him. He raised one hand, palm out, towards the great Ozaru's chest. "_Go to Hell._" 

"_**Nooooooo!**_" 

The golden flash shattered the thick ki-shield and blasted through the giant beast's chest like a rifle bullet through a pumpkin, opening a car-sized hole in the Ozaru's torso. The pinned hand tore free as the great body heaved in a spasm, overbalancing on the narrow confines of Snake Way. Roaring through bloody foam, Lerzett screamed out his hatred in one final, sputtering energy blast before vanishing through the golden clouds. His rageful howl echoed through the heavens as he fell, swearing vengeance as he returned to the hellfires he'd come from. 

Immediately, Trunks dropped out of Super Saiyan, falling to one knee on the road and gasping for breath. He was bone weary from the drawn-out confrontation, and terribly sore from Lerzett's Mack-truck blows. _Damn me for an overconfident fool,_ he mentally growled at himself. _It's been a month since I fought Cell, and I could feel it even against **him**: I'm slipping. I was so lousy against Lerzett it isn't even funny! Just **one** stupid ape and I'm almost canned! Solo training's great, but I need live opponents--I'm losing my edge!_

"Shoot," he grunted aloud, using his sword to brace himself to his feet. "Bad loss of control, too." _What was the **matter** with me--what was the deal with that big explosion? I can't believe I just blew up like that, whether the Saiyan was crushing me or not!_

Sore and tired, he reached to his side, to the pouch of senzu carried there--but his hand only contacted charred fabric and burned flesh. He winced as his clumsy fingers brushed his wound. He hadn't realized he was injured that badly; that first blast of Lerzett's that had clipped him must have burned into his side, cutting through his shield before he could compensate. _Dammit, I **am** getting soft!_ Now that he realized he had the wound, it began to throb and sting, making his problems just that much worse. But more importantly, his method of recovery from his battle was seriously crimped. 

"Where the hell are my senzu?" he snarled suddenly, whirling--and wobbling--to search up and down the visible length of Snake Way. "Damn! Don't tell me that bastard disintegrated my senzu! _Arrgh!_" Pitching a rather royal fit--that is, glowering furiously and berating himself and his former opponent--he raised his eyes to the heavens and wondered, "_Rrrr_...why me? Why _here_ and _now_, of all places? Why can't anything ever go _my way_ for a change?" 

He was sure it was due to whatever damnable luck had already cursed him to a lonely existence as the last Saiyan warrior left in the world. Unable to locate the precious bundle of beans, Trunks glared up and down Snake Way, sheathing his sword and hoping he'd have enough energy to make it to his destination. Then he realized something. 

"Oh, great. Which way do I go?" he moaned, great weariness washing over him. The danger and battle gone, all the rage and adrenaline that had been supporting him was melting away like snow. His knees were quivering, and the sword strapped to his back felt like a lead weight. The furious fight had gotten him turned around on Snake Way; both directions looked the same, and he was too drained from his carelessly explosive discharge of ki to sense anything outside a hundred miles. "Oh, no..." 

Trunks _desperately_ did not want to be lost in the After Realms. He looked both ways, like a child before crossing the street; he was certain a truck--or at least some more bad karma--was going to run him down. He let his heart guide him...or at least that's what he thought it was. It could also be his stomach; King Kai was rumored to be a wonderful cook, and he was absolutely _starving_ after his fight. 

Staggering slightly, the weary, wounded half-Saiyan picked a direction and began walking. His steps were slow and tired but firm and determined. "What the hell. I've got nothing to lose but my life. I just hope I'm going the right way..." 

__

Put your faith in what you most believe in;   
Two worlds, one family.   
Trust your heart, let Fate decide   
To guide these lives we see.   
--Phil Collins, **"Two Worlds, One Family"**

  
_To be continued..._


	3. Preparation

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

**Chapter 3: Preparation**

Bulma was never able to keep track of the time when she was on a real roll inventing something. She supposed she'd gotten that trait from her dear absentminded father, who could go to his lab after breakfast, work for days on a single device, then wander out again wondering where lunch was. Despite her long attention span, inventive genius, and other oddities, Bulma herself couldn't exactly achieve quite _that_ grand-master level of eccentricity. For one thing, unlike her father she actually got _bored_ with some things once in a while. For another, her half-Saiyan son wouldn't let her go that long without feeding him. 

_Nothing like having a pet to keep you on your toes._ At that thought, Bulma chuckled to herself as she worked on the electrical components of the spaceship she had so painstakingly designed. 

The "pet" joke made her smile, reflecting on her past experiences with Saiyans. Raising Trunks as a very young boy had been, she remembered, not too unlike keeping an eye on young Goku. All the little Saiyans had been bundles of seemingly limitless energy, up and able to scurry about at a surprisingly young age, getting into all sorts of trouble. Trunks had been climbing banisters and hanging off her mother's draperies by the time he was two. Wild little things, young Saiyans; when she and Chichi had coffee together to reminisce, Goku's widow would heartily agree with her--Gohan had been like that too. 

Little Saiyan boys--it frustrated her to no end that she couldn't keep anything out of Trunks' mouth as a child. Even up until he was six or seven, anything small and moving was, for lack of a better word, "prey" to the boy. It had to be Saiyan instinct, to forage and hunt for himself and to be self-sufficient even when so young. Chichi had told her that Gohan had been pretty much the same, but she had sternly and firmly drilled it out of him very early on--probably in her usual frightening way--making sure to teach him that the only things he was allowed to eat were things his mother made for him...at least until he developed better sense so as not to try gulping down birds or bugs or minnows whole. She was determined to turn Gohan into a civilized boy, despite his father's blood--even though Goku seemed to have no problems with his son's intended diet. 

Not that Goku had had any problems with eating centipedes and wolves, Bulma reflected. At twelve, Goku had been pretty much wild when she met him. She smiled to herself, a memory rising in her mind--that of the day she'd collided with a monstrous beached fish in one of her Capsule cars, way back when she'd first set out to find the Dragonballs. And there he had been--a shaggy-haired, feral little boy snarling defensively at her, guarding his kill, his tail twitching catlike-nervous behind him. His adoptive grandfather had died seven years before, leaving him alone, uneducated, and barely able to relate to other people. Bulma laughed softly; a normal human boy might have starved to death, or come out of the mountains seeking human companionship and help. But Goku was far from human--independent and fearless young Saiyan that he was, he had simply...survived, living on instinct and his own hard work. 

And then, by pure accident or blessed Fate, she'd found him. Little more than a talking animal, Goku had accompanied her once she gained his trust, faithful as a little half-wild dog; and she, being his first friend, was the one he followed, obeyed, and protected. Until his world had broadened, and his circle of friends expanded to include Turtle, Master Roshi, Oolong, Yamcha, Puar, Ox King, Chichi, Krillin, Yajirobe, Tienshinhan, Chaozu...all of them, all people he protected, friends he would willingly sacrifice for. And later, his son Gohan, and Piccolo. Even Vegeta, arrogant, stubborn Prince that he was, had the privilege of being one of the people Goku considered a friend. All of them...Goku would fight for them, kill for them...die for them. 

Tears suddenly stung her eyes, and she set down her tool to wipe them. It seemed so sad to her, so very unfair that a heart so pure and strong and big should have been broken, damaged beyond repair, by something as loathsome as a space virus. She knew that Goku would rather have died fighting--bathed in raw-edged conflict, raging in defense of his loved ones and his world. She could remember the day it happened...all too well. 

Less than a year before the Androids had come, and shortly after Trunks' birth, everything had been so...normal. There had been no indication that Goku was ill--no failing health, no signs of fatigue, no shortness of breath. But then, she supposed, with his Saiyan heritage his body would have held off the virus for so long that when it did finally catch up with him, it would come down with a vengeance. And Goku had been his usual cheerful, irrepressible self right up until the end. 

Chichi had invited Bulma over for something of a picnic, to get out and enjoy the country, take a breather from the city and rest with the new baby. Of course, Vegeta had come along; Bulma had long believed that he secretly sort of _liked_ Goku, perhaps even considered him a friend, because the two Saiyans never missed a chance to spar or train, even as little as they got together, sharpening each other even in peacetime. Nothing serious, though, or else their women would have _really_ laid into them. 

Everyone _ooh_ed and _aah_ed over the new baby while Vegeta pretended to ignore them--but Bulma had seen his glances, the faint blush on his cheeks, how carefully he listened to all that they said. While Gohan made faces at Trunks in Ox King's lap, Chichi and Bulma enjoyed the morning air on the lawn as their two resident Saiyans polished off the rest of the brunch Chichi had prepared. It was a beautiful day and everyone was so complacent--they had no clue that by the time the sun set, their entire world would begin spinning out of control. 

Soon after, their men had flown off to have another of their mountain-leveling training sessions. Gohan, soon growing bored but not quite up to wading into a major fight between the two powerful adult Saiyans, had fluttered off in search if his mentor, Piccolo. Bulma wasn't even sure she remembered what time it was that afternoon when Vegeta had come streaking across the sky to land in a burst of ki almost on top of them, shouting for one of them to get off their butts and take the stupid third-class moron from him. 

The sight of Goku, mostly supported by Vegeta, struggling to stand, to breathe, to _live_ while his heart failed him, shocked all of them into a stupor for a few moments. But then Vegeta's harsh, terse voice snapped them out of it, and Ox King was lifting Goku into his burly arms to bear him into the house, Chichi right behind him in a state of near-panic. 

Getting Goku set up in the bedroom only took a few minutes. Chichi and Bulma rushed about trying everything they could think of to help, while Ox King fetched baby Trunks and Vegeta paced about looking wild and threatening. She hadn't had the time to think about it then, but she reflected afterwards that she'd never really seen Vegeta more scared than when he'd brought Goku in--though he covered it well with his blustering temper. The Saiyan Prince actually seemed...worried, concerned, almost _frantic_ that Goku be healed. She'd never seen him in such an agitated state. 

Goku had little breath to spare for talking; whatever his last words were to Chichi, Bulma had not gotten to hear--she'd been too busy placing calls to everyone she could think of. Her father, who might know a cure; Master Roshi, who could somehow contact Krillin and the others and let them know that Goku was in trouble...she couldn't remember now what all she'd done. And then the waiting began, as Goku's friends began to arrive one by one. 

By then, the Saiyan was no longer conscious. He was struggling, gasping, every fiber of his being still fighting to survive, to win the battle against the virus. If he was going to die, he would do it resisting death with everything that he was. One by one, his friends filed in to see him, but eventually went back outside to wait for news, to avoid crowding Chichi, Ox King, and Master Roshi. 

Somewhere in there, Bulma found that she couldn't bear Goku's pained, desperate cries any longer and fled outside with Trunks as well. The waiting went on until the sun was bright and fiery in the western horizon. Pattering feet alerted them to Gohan's approach; somehow, finally, someone had gotten word to the boy of what was happening. As Gohan tore into his house, almost taking the door off, Krillin had suddenly jerked as if struck, paling sharply. 

_"He's gone,"_ the short warrior had said, his voice breathless and grieving. _"Goku's gone."_

She'd known, then--known for sure. The others, the ones who could also sense ki--they could feel it too; it was obvious by the wretched, broken looks on their faces. As tears filled her eyes and she'd begun to sob, she had seen Vegeta, his face pale and shocked and stricken as she'd never seen before. 

_"Ka...karot...no!"_ he'd rasped, entire body slack with disbelief. 

And they'd heard Chichi's heartbroken sobs, heard Gohan's desperate crying. Puar, Oolong, Krillin, Yamcha...none of the friends from the "old days" had a dry eye. Even Yajirobe looked bleak. Goku, their finest friend, their strongest protector, the little brother they'd always loved...was gone. 

Vegeta's grief was immediately apparent--a flash of expression, just the briefest look of horrible, wrenching loss on his face--but he quickly translated it into the emotion that Saiyans seemed best equipped to express--anger. Fists clenched, back rigid, teeth bared, he'd let out a feral snarl and blasted into the air, going off to do only-God-knew-what. The rest of Goku's friends cried on each other's shoulders, lost in abject grief and pain. Bulma didn't remember what time they had all finally settled down--it was well after dark and she'd ended up staying with the Sons, trying to comfort Chichi...trying to comfort herself. 

The saddest memory she had of those shattering hours was not Goku's death itself. Rather, what caused the worst ache in her heart was the fact that Gohan, that poor, sweet boy, had never gotten the chance to say goodbye to his beloved father. 

Bulma sat back at her workbench, realizing she was crying openly again. She'd been doing that a lot lately, whenever she delved into those painful memories of the past. But she'd always managed, somehow, to hide it from Trunks; all the while wondering why these memories struck her so strongly--why _now_ did she sob over a memory more than two decades old? Perhaps it was because Cell and the Androids were gone, and the world was at peace...and all those who had lost now had the time to mourn. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she sniffled and let the memory play out to the end. 

Somehow--she didn't remember exactly--she'd made it home with little Trunks. Unable to cope just then, she'd left Trunks in her mother's care and collapsed in her room. She felt so heartbroken, so lost knowing that her oldest friend and protector was no longer there for her. Vegeta was around somewhere, but he wasn't the same. She wanted her Goku back so badly--his smile, his cheerfulness, his pure, deep heart, his aura of gentle strength and utter confidence, his playful good nature, his willingness to love so easily--she wanted him back, she'd pleaded to the heavens as she sobbed and beat her pillow. Her grief mirrored Chichi's in its depth and intensity--wife and adoptive sister mourned equally the loss of husband and brother. 

When had Vegeta gotten back? She'd never be sure. But he was subdued and quiet when he came to her; for the first time she could ever remember, he hadn't pressed her, only sat and held her tight for such a long time, rocking her gently in his arms and murmuring something softly to her, though she'd been so out of it she could barely hear him speaking-- _"...be remembered with honor. Kakarot died as a warrior should; he fought death to the bitter end..."_ --in deep, rough, comforting tones. She knew, then, that he shared her pain; even understood, on some level, how deeply she grieved and how close she had been to his onetime enemy turned truest friend. She had never felt closer to her lover than she had the night after Goku died. 

And then the Androids had come...and she'd lost him too... 

Managing to control her tears took some effort. She leaned back in her chair, her work temporarily forgotten, and concentrated on clearing her eyes and her mind. It wasn't easy--it never was. These days, one single memory brought on a tidal wave of others, all sad and wrenching, and she'd find herself sobbing for an hour at a time, hurrying to find solace in her room or her lab before her keen-eared son caught her. She didn't want him to see her like this; as much as he might have denied it, Trunks was...fragile--fragile in ways that Goku and Vegeta had never been, in ways that only Gohan was. Trunks and Gohan--those two Earth-born super-warriors, their Saiyan hides as tough as steel, their bodies perfect organic fighting machines...but their very human hearts were so easily breakable, needed support and solace so very much. If she lost her balance, Trunks might very well be the one who toppled. Her son still needed her. 

That thought gave her the strength she needed to dry her eyes, take a deep breath, and pull herself together. She had a spaceship to build, she told herself firmly, shutting off those painful memories once again. Trunks would be back with the location of New Namek and would want to be off as soon as he could. She couldn't disappoint him by slacking on the job! 

"I need some coffee," she said loudly to herself, mostly just to hear a voice, to help break out of her monotony-induced reverie. She rose and headed for the door of the lab, absently wondering what time it was as she crossed the floor. 

It startled her when the door to the lab slid open when she was too far away for the sensors to have picked up her approach. It startled her even more to see her son standing here, his face tired, his entire posture weary. His clothes were dirty and tattered, scorched and torn in several places. He seemed rather scuffed himself, smudged with grime, and he leaned one hand against the doorframe--but he was alive and well! "Trunks!" 

"Mom..." 

Something deep in his blue eyes made her heart leap in sudden joy--it was a spark of light, of hope, shining half-hidden inside him. "You got it," she stated, her face slowly melting into a disbelieving, almost insanely silly grin. "You got it!" 

The corner of his mouth quirked up, reminding her of one of Vegeta's rarely-seen almost-smiles. He held out a hand, in which was clenched a scrap of paper. "Here it is." 

She snatched it from him, reading it over quickly--the distance from Earth, the angles and direction, the time calculations. _It's all here. Everything we need...it's all here!_ Giving a cry of pure joy, she threw her arms around him just as he had her only a few days ago. "Oh, you did it! Trunks, you darling child, you did it!" She was crying again, but this time her tears were happy. "I knew you could!" 

Trunks laughed and hugged his mother back, as tightly as he dared. For just a moment, he wished he were all human--to be able to put _all_ of his love and joy and relief into his embrace, to not have to hold back his strength for fear of snapping his mother's bones. But to be with her again was enough, so he held her patiently while she showered his cheek with kisses and petted his hair, gushing almost incoherently in her happiness. 

"We owe King Kai big time for this," Trunks said, once she'd settled a bit. "He may not be able to tell a good joke, but the old fellow sure knows this part of the galaxy. So, how's the ship coming?" 

"Oh!" She looked surprised for a second, wiping her eyes, then excitedly led him over to the table. "It's going great. I've got to put together some of the components from scratch, but a lot of the stuff we already have in storage." She smiled in memory, gesturing beyond the table to the mechanical mess spread out on the floor. "Man, I can remember when I built some of this junk--I think I was younger than you! I never thought then that I'd be using them as parts of a spaceship!" 

"This...is going to take some work," Trunks said slowly, surveying the scattered machinery. 

"I think we can cobble together what's left of your father's ship--the one he went out looking for Goku in--and get something that will make it to New Namek. Worst comes to worst, you can always just wish yourself back!" 

"Yeah, I guess..." He let out a deep breath, grateful to be home. It was good to know that his mom was safe and happily working, that the ship wasn't impossible...that he was back where he belonged again. Some part of his nature he was pretty sure he hadn't gotten from his father--he always got hopelessly homesick when he was away too long; only the presence of his younger mother had helped assuage that problem when he'd spent so long in the Past Time. To say nothing of the year in the Room of Space and Time... 

"What happened while you were up there, son?" Bulma was asking him, startling him out of his little reverie. "You look like a mess, and you seem tired, but there's not a mark on you. What in the world...?" 

"I wasn't exactly _in_ this world, Mom," Trunks chuckled in reply, brushing back his bangs. "Let's just say I had a little trouble with some unpleasant company, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. My only problem was that my senzu beans got vaporized in the scuffle, so I had to ask Korin for another one on my way back. I owe _him_ for this now too." 

Bulma put her hands on her hips and looked him over again; he stood nervously under her scrutiny, wondering if she'd chew him out for being careless. "Well, alright; you came out okay. I guess I should know better than to doubt you, Trunks. Goku may have killed the Freeza we got here, but _you're_ the one who took him out in that other past--so I guess there's not much that can mess with my little boy!" 

Blushing, Trunks shrugged, unused to too much praise. "Yeah...well..." He coughed uncomfortably. "I can get you that coffee, if you want--" 

"Nonsense, no way!" Bulma interrupted, wondering how he'd heard her through the door--darn those Saiyan ears of his. She put her hands on his shoulders, turned him around, and marched him back out. "You go right upstairs, get cleaned up, get some rest--and for God's sake eat something before you get too ravenous for me to handle!" 

"Uh...!" He let his mother push him out the door; if he'd really wanted, he could have planted his feet and then there was no way in hell she could have budged him. But he hadn't seen her with this much energy in a long time...way before the time machine. His mother was in her groove, now--she'd been handed a problem that only she could solve, and God help anyone who got in her way! 

_This is what she was like before...when Dad knew her. The way she was in that other time, too..._ "Okay," he said reluctantly, stepping away toward the stairs that led up to the living area. "But as soon as I'm done, I'm going to be back here to help you." 

Half-turned to go back to her desk, her eyes on the paper he'd brought, Bulma barely spared him a glance. "Hm? Oh, alright. Just as long as you don't get underfoot." 

He smiled. "I promise, Mom." 

* * * * * 

_Raise your head up, lift high the load,   
Take strength from those that need you.   
Build high the walls,   
Build strong the beams;   
A new life is waiting,   
But danger's no stranger here._   
--Phil Collins, **"Two Worlds, One Family"**

The spaceship took three weeks to build. 

Of course, Bulma reflected, it would have taken three times as long without Trunks there to help her. He may not have been able to invent and design--well, as masterfully as she could, anyway--but he was good enough at mechanics and engineering that he could follow a diagram and assemble many components completely on his own. 

His own ki was hot enough to solder with, when he wished it to be, and he could turn screws, tighten bolts, and drive rivets with his bare hands, which meant he didn't need to be using her tools all the time. He was invaluable in helping her with some metal shaping--who needed to re-forge a flange bracket when her son could bend it to fit with his own strength? His speed--and his knowledge of computers and keyboarding--made him essential for programming lines and lines of code into the ship's computer; he could copy new commands in seconds without error. And when the larger components of the ship began to come together, Trunks' massive Saiyan strength made it possible to assemble the parts without heavy lifting equipment. He could raise and hold incongruously large pieces of machinery while she soldered and welded and bolted and riveted. With him around, securing the massive engines in place had been as simple as putting in a battery. 

Trunks also seemed to be getting more and more excited as the ship began to come together. He'd been a little reluctant to say goodbye to his precious _Hope_, the time machine--they'd had to skeletonize the poor old thing for many important components--but the fact that it was being sacrificed for a larger cause helped a great deal. Seeing the small, simple ship grow more and more each day was bringing out a boyish excitement in him that had never been so prevalent before. He'd lost so many of his shadows that it seemed at times to Bulma as if he'd become a child again. 

Three weeks passed, in which her son worked harder and longer on something other than fighting than she'd ever known him to do. The ship became his new hobby, so much so that Bulma actually found herself scolding him for neglecting his training. _That_ was something she thought she'd never have to chide him for. 

Bulma had seen that his human blood needed an outlet, too; building the spaceship was a great chance for him to work on his mental training, honing his mind's strength and dexterity as he worked alongside his mother. Perhaps, she thought, that's part of why the project had so excited him--it was a way he could do battle with her on a field that she excelled at as well; the long-winded technical lessons, the quick engineering instruction, the tart discussions, and the verbal spats were all a form of training. Punches, kicks, blocks, evasions--battle tactics of the mind. Put in that view, of course he'd be delighted to do so much with her--this was the only way he could "spar" all-out with his mother. 

In a physical battle, no matter how careful he was, no matter how much he pulled his punches, she would stand no chance. He could kill her without meaning to, just by moving too quickly, by hitting her just a little too hard. Bulma remembered the match between Goku and Chichi at a World Martial Arts Tournament long ago; the young Saiyan had not wanted to harm the girl who seemed so determined to beat him, so he'd not laid a hand on her. He'd merely knocked her down with the _wind_ created by the speed and force of his movements, as if he'd gathered pillows of air to hit her as softly as he could. It was the most careful battle she'd ever seen him fight, as gentle as he'd ever been with an opponent, and still Chichi had been sent reeling, even as strong as she was. Bulma knew she was much weaker than Chichi, and by no means a fighter--and Trunks was far, far stronger than Goku had ever been back then. She knew well how much restraint her son had, how much of his strength he had to hold back even when merely touching her. 

Aside from their mother-son time, the fact that this spaceship would facillitate his search for the Namek Dragonballs and the resurrection of his father only added to his excitement. The way he seemed to _bounce_ around the workroom while helping her construct the ship was something she had often seen in Goku and Gohan as children--albeit Trunks was far more reserved about his bouncing, and didn't exactly do it off the _walls_ like Goku had. 

When the ship was finished, Trunks had looked so proud and so eager...she had to wipe a tear from her eyes. The metal plating on the side, instead of bearing the Capsule Corporation logo, was emblazoned with a moniker that Trunks had chosen himself. He had insisted upon naming the ship _Dream_. 

_"The time machine was Hope, because it gave us all hope for our future,"_ he'd said softly as he himself painted the name on the side. _"This ship--this is our dream...that we can get Dad and the others back..."_

His simple, quiet statement had brought tears to her eyes for what seemed the hundredth time that month. With the spaceship done, she was busied with the interior, making sure Trunks had a tolerable living space for the long journey to New Namek. By her calculations, with the best upgrades she had made to her father's old engine designs, her son could be to New Namek in about the same amount of time it had taken for them to build the ship in the first place. The Nameks' new planet was much further from Earth than the old had been. She had to thank God and her father's genius for Capsule technology--how else would she cram enough food on board to keep her son satisfied for four whole weeks? She stocked the ship as efficiently as possible, making sure Trunks knew he was to eat for proper caloric intake per day, not just whatever he felt like. A ship's larder had to be managed just as carefully as its engineering section. 

The ship had water recyclers, and the waste management facilities were as efficient as she could make them, despite the fact that Saiyan bodies wasted very little of what they ingested. The living quarters were small and practical but comfortable--two "bedroom" cabins, each with lockers in the end walls and niche bunks in each of the longer side walls; a bathroom with a shower, sink, and toilet; a small "living area" with another, larger table, a couchlike seat, and a wallset television. The small food preparation area wasn't entirely separate from the main room, but was more of a kitchen nook. She didn't forget to include her father's famous stereo system--Trunks would need something to do for a month. He'd have the others to talk to on the way back, but the little ship was made to get them there and back safely, not to make it a pleasure cruise. The others were what all the extra bunks and accomodations were for; she hadn't been sure if the Namek Dragon would bring them to life on Namek or Earth. There wasn't any room for training on board, to say nothing of the fact that there were no variable gravity controls. 

She kept the gravity at normal, because it wasted less energy and put less stress on the ship's components. To keep the ship safe from most micrometeorites--anything from a fleck of paint to a small space rock--she had installed a static field generator that would repel small objects from the ship's outer skin. However, Trunks was on his own if he decided to test it against anything larger than a man's fist; it wasn't meant for taking on asteroids. 

The air filters and oxygenators were delicately balanced and carefully filtered so that the air would last the entire journey; the oxygen mixture, to conserve space and weight, was a little sparse compared to what a human would consider acceptable, but Trunks' efficient Saiyan lungs would allow his body to function in half the pressure that a human could--and the pressure was nowhere near _that_ low. She had to warn him about the static field generator compartment, however--make _absolutely sure_ it was filtered clear before he opened it. Normally, such a thing would not be such an issue, but her son had Saiyan blood, and the generator's small compartment would rapidly flood with ozone from the electricity when turned on. 

Now, a human would not have as much of a problem with ozone--it wasn't particularly good for you, but you could survive an accident with it. However, a Saiyan's lungs exhaled an oddly larger proportion of hydrogen, which would rapidly bond with the quickly degenerating O3 of ozone--it broke down into O2 and free radical oxygen atoms. This newly formed molecule is H2O--better known as water. Small amounts of ozone were nothing--it caused no reaction and no ill effects; a good thing too, because ozone was very prevalent on Earth. But a thick full breath of it would be a very bad experience for a poor Saiyan's lungs--their ki and increased body temperature were the perfect catalysts, and a very _violent_ chemical reaction would take place as the hydrogen and oxygen suddenly rushed to bond. 

One of the many astonishingly simple ways to kill a Saiyan that she had discovered by accident. Amazing what a little scientific research could do. 

Trunks promised that he would be _very_ careful if he needed to repair the static field generator. 

The _Dream_ had three decks, which would be Trunks' world for the next four weeks or so. The mid deck, or the living deck, was where Trunks would be housed during his trip. It contained his living quarters, the den area, and the little kitchenette. Above that was the command deck, where the main computer and pilot's stations were located. Essentially the little ship's "bridge"--but really more just a cockpit--most of the command functions were controlled there. Below the living deck was the engineering deck, where the engine and manual controls were housed. Most repairs would be made there, as well as any emergency steering if the controls to the "cockpit" went dead. The gravity axis switched as one climbed from the mid deck to the top--on the mid and lower decks, the ship's rear was "down." On the command deck, "down" was a right angle to the other deck, so that as it was flying the pilot could sit at his terminal and face directly "forward" to the stars. 

There was one small escape pod mounted on the side of the living deck, giving the _Dream_ a sort of "nose"--or a dorsal fin, depending on how you looked at it. It was only for emergencies, but it had a good oxygen supply and a powerful built-in communicator. Bulma had put all her heart and soul into this spaceship; she had given her all for her son's dream. 

When a month passed since Trunks had visited Kami's Lookout, Bulma finally announced that she couldn't possibly tweak another bolt on the whole ship. It was as ready as she could make it, she declared, and everything that Trunks would ever need for another whole month of traveling was on board. 

At least, she hoped it was all he would need. With a Saiyan, who could ever predict how much food they would eat? 

  
_To be continued..._


	4. Spaceflight

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

**Chapter 4: Spaceflight**

"...and the engine capacity should never, _ever_ run above one hundred twenty percent, understand? And if you _do_ have to go that high, make sure to open the secondary coolant valves--those are the blue valves above this casing--or else you'll have a nasty meltdown. This guage here tells you the coolant pressure, and remember _this_ one is the engine temperature--don't forget and mix them up, because... Trunks? Earth to Trunks--are you listening to me, honey?" 

The purple-haired half-Saiyan finished an expansive yawn, blinking and quickly bringing his attention back to his mother's lecture. "Oh! Yeah, Mom, I'm right here. Um...throttle valves, you were saying?" 

Bulma raised an eyebrow sardonically at him. "Son, that subject went by about ten minutes ago." 

Trunks dropped his eyes and fiddled with his fork. "Sorry. I'm excited about leaving tomorrow. It seems like it's taken forever to finish the _Dream_." 

Bulma and Trunks were currently at the dinner table--although dinner was long since finished. It had been a massive affair; Bulma had really overdone it, packing as many of her son's favorite dishes into one meal as she possibly could. In typical Saiyan fashion, Trunks had graciously polished it all off, and now that the meal was over, he and Bulma were poring over charts and diagrams of the small spaceship's design and components. Bulma was determined to see that Trunks knew all there was to know about flying a ship, and he had listened attentively--at first. With the meal consumed and the evening wearing on, he was beginning to get a little bored. 

"I know how you feel, Trunks," Bulma responded kindly. "I'm excited too. And I guess I shouldn't be trying to drill all of this into you now--you helped me build it, after all." 

Trunks shrugged, then found himself fighting off another yawn. "Man, I'm so full tonight..." 

"I'm not surprised!" Bulma said triumphantly. "That has to be the biggest effort on dinner that I've ever made! I think I've finally outdone Chichi." 

"It sure was good. And there was so much of it." 

His mother grinned. "Did I finally achieve the impossible and actually fill up a Saiyan's stomach?" 

Trunks laughed. "_This_ Saiyan's stomach, anyway," he admitted as another wide yawn interposed itself into his conversation. "I'm liable to crack my jaw if I keep this up." 

"Then I guess it's off to bed with you, young man," Bulma announced, rolling up the diagrams and rising from the table. "You don't really need me to chatter at you all night. The ship's computer has all this data, and you've got a big day tomorrow. You need to be fresh and rested to--" 

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second!" Trunks protested, standing up beside her. "I'm not _that_ tired--just a little sleepy from eating too much. What about the dinner dishes? What about the preflight systems check on the ship you said--?" 

Bulma cut him off with a wave of one hand. "Nothing to it. I can take care of it, son. _You're_ the one who's going off into outer space tomorrow morning. I have all the time in the world at home, and you need get your sleep." 

"But _you're_ the one who's only human, Mom. And..." Another yawn--he was beginning to become annoyed with himself for doing that. "...you've been working so hard--" 

"But nothing, Trunks. Go to bed." With a conspiratory wink, she leaned close. "Besides, you being sleepy is all my fault." 

_That_ made him jerk in surprise. "_What?_" 

"It's an old trick Chichi taught me," Bulma explained smugly. "She always said, 'Nothing knocks a Saiyan out faster than a full belly with no fighting to do.'" 

"But--!" 

"_Trunks_." 

He cringed. There was no arguing with her when she was like this, especially when she spoke his name with _that_ tone. The Mommy Voice held a note of command that not even the mightiest king could hope to match. "Are...are you sure you don't need...?" 

"Like you said, all this technical jargon is just boring you, and you need to be ready for tomorrow." She hugged him, and stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I can get the dishes and the preflight done. It won't take long." 

"You promise me you'll rest once I'm on my way," he told her sternly. 

"Yes, yes, of course I will." 

"Promise!" 

Bulma paused and looked at him. His eyes held something concerned, something anxious, that made her sigh. "Son, I'm not going to suddenly collapse on you. Fine, I promise, as soon as you're out of the atmosphere I'll take myself to the new sauna and then treat myself to a parfait. Maybe I'll even invite Chichi to come with me. Good enough?" 

His blue eyes searched hers for a long moment. "Yeah. I guess." He embraced her in return, sighing in affectionate exhasperation. "Good night, Mom." 

She tweaked his chin as he drew back, smiling affectionately. "Good night, son." 

Reluctantly, he stepped away, still feeling guilty for leaving dishes on the table, not to mention that he hadn't taken the trash out in three days, the pantry was getting empty mostly due to his appetite and he hadn't gone shopping recently, all because he'd been so wrapped up in getting the spaceship finished as soon as possible... 

He took one last look at the chiding expression on his mother's face, and with an affectionate sigh, headed to his room for the night. 

* * * * * 

_Oh, the power to be strong,   
And the wisdom to be wise;   
All these things will come to you in time.   
On this journey that you're making,   
There'll be answers that you'll seek;   
And it's you who'll climb the mountain,   
It's you who'll reach the peak. _

Son of man, look to the sky.   
Lift your spirit, set it free.   
Someday you'll walk tall with pride;   
Son of man, a man in time you'll be.   
--Phil Collins, **"Son of Man"**

The _Dream_ gleamed proudly in the early morning light, fresh sunbeams reflecting blindingly off the spaceship's white metallic skin. She was a fine little ship, sleek and sturdy, trimmed with blue and gold, bearing her name in striking blue letters on her smooth side. The engines hummed readily, vibrating the air around the launch pad, sending up heat waves from beneath their exhaust ports. 

"Looking good, Mom!" Trunks called from the ship's hatchway, halfway up the side. "She's running at eighty percent, and by the time I launch it'll be at full!" 

"That's great!" Bulma shouted back over the engines' throaty rumble, looking up from her palmtop "clipboard." After having finished the preflight checks last night, the ignition sequence early this morning had been a snap, and they were sailing through the engine warmup with nary a hitch. "Is there anything making funny noises up there? Like a whine or a rattle?" 

It made better sense to ask him; a Saiyan's ears could hear tiny nuances of sound at higher and lower frequencies than a human's, so any out-of-place vibrations would be easily detected by her son. The only other time she'd started up the _Dream_'s engines had been in a test, and they had discovered two loose valves and a broken housing thanks to his keen ears. 

Trunks disappeared from the hatchway for a moment, ducking down the ladder/stairs to peruse the ship's engine room for any "funny noises." Bulma waited anxiously for him to return, reading off everything they'd checked over already. Oil and coolant pressures, fuel level and mixture, oxygenation status, navigational diagnostics... When she looked up again, Trunks was giving her a thumbs-up from the hatch. "All clear, Mom!" 

"Then I guess we're all set!" Bulma announced, hiding her anxiety behind a facade of cheerful-genius. 

Beaming from ear to ear, Trunks hopped down from the hatch. It was a good twenty feet from the ground, but to him it was as simple as walking down his front doorstep--also why Bulma hadn't bothered putting up any temporary stairs. In a single half-skipping hop, he was at her side, looking over her shoulder at the preflight checklist as she headed further from the ship, where it was a bit quieter. 

"Is that it? Is that everything?" he asked, almost wriggling in excitement as he paced beside her. 

Bulma grinned at him, holding back her laugh as her half-Saiyan son struggled to contain his jubilance and keep his stride even. They stopped just inside the hangar, where the walls of the garage dimmed the engines' noise a little. "Yes, son, that would be it. Now, if you remembered to pack your toothbrush, you should be good to go." 

"Of course I did," he said, a bit apalled that she'd think he would forget something as silly as _that_. 

"It's okay, Trunks," she chuckled, reaching up to tweak his nose playfully. "I'm just teasing. I know you've put more into this than I have." 

"But...Mom..._you're_ the one who made all of this..._work_." He gestured to the interior of the garage/lab, where bits of spare machinery lay half-forgotten, diagrams were strewn about, and computers hummed through simulations and diagnostics. "You're amazing--I couldn't have done it on my own. Us Saiyans...you know we don't do well at much else besides fighting." He laughed softly at his self-mocking half-joke. 

Bulma smiled at him, setting down her palmtop to chuck his shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short, kiddo. I'd like to think that _some_ of my stunning genius won out over Vegeta's brute strength in your DNA. I could never have gotten all this done so well--and so quickly--all by myself, you know." 

He shrugged, self-conscious. "Yeah...well..." 

They walked back out of the hangar, stopping at the edge of sunlight and shadow. The _Dream_ rumbled eagerly across the lot, ready to go. 

"Trunks..." She turned to stand in front of him, looking him straight in the eye. "I want you back. Promise me, no matter what else happens--even if you can't get the Dragonballs, even if..._anything_ goes wrong...promise me you'll come back alive." 

"Mom, I'll get Dad back for you. And the others. I'm going to do this--" 

"Listen, Trunks." Blue eyes matched blue eyes will for will. "I want your father alive as much as you do. But I've learned to live without him and the others. I can't..." She broke off, eyes misting, swallowing hard. "I _cannot_ learn to live without you. You're all I've got left. Even if Vegeta never comes back, you _have_ to--do you understand?" Her voice, usually so unperturbed and steady, became shaky with desperation. 

Trunks regarded her for a time, torn between wanting to vow his father's return and wanting to promise his mother something, _anything_, that would take the sorrow and longing out of her eyes. "Mom..." 

"Please come back to me, Trunks." 

"I...I..." He could never abandon her like that. He wondered, briefly, if she had tried to get such a promise out of his father before he left to face the androids. He also wondered if Vegeta had promised...or merely blasted off without a backward glance. "I promise you, Mom. I'll come back. Even if I have to fly across space under my own power. I won't leave you alone like Dad did." 

"Trunks...Trunks..." She threw her arms around him, crying suddenly. "I'll hold you to your word--you _have_ to come home. You're my baby...I don't think I could live if you died too..." 

"I won't be gone for long, Mom," he said softly, hugging her in return. "And no matter what it takes, I'll come home. And I'll have Dad and Gohan and everyone else with me, so _you'd_ better promise to be alright, too--you'd better be right here waiting for me when I get back." His voice took on a note of scolding, but beneath it was an unspoken plea: _Please...**please** be okay with me gone, Mom..._

"You know I'll be just fine, honey," she told him softly. 

He breathed deeply, catching his mother's comforting scent, reminded of how precious she was to him, how he'd do anything for her happiness. "Very soon we'll be standing here again, only we'll be saying hello instead of goodbye, and everyone will be with us again. I promise that, too." 

"Trunks..." 

"I love you, Momma," he said, his voice cracking as he used a name he hadn't called her since he was very, very young. A twinge of premature homesickness made him close his eyes and hold her just a little tighter. Just the thought of leaving her--of leaving the Earth itself for so long--alone and unprotected without him... 

"You'd...better get going, Trunks," his mother reminded him, gently pulling back from his embrace. "Wouldn't want you to be late for your date with destiny." 

"Yeah." He stood back to look at her, memorizing every detail, molding her face into his mind so that she could give him strength in the long journey to come. She was so strong--strong in ways that he could never hope to match, far stronger than any Super Saiyan could ever be. Her heart held such love, passion, hope, and _life_. 

"Have a good time," she told him, releasing her grip on his sleeve. "Don't stay up too late. Remember not to eat too much right away; don't forget to keep loose things locked down...remember to flush, and brush your teeth, and exercise when you can...!" 

He smiled at her concern, at her simple, boundless mother's love. "I think I'll be okay, Mom." 

"Yes." She sniffled, wiping her eyes. "Of course you will! You're a grown man, after all..." After taking a deep breath, she stood straight and smiled. "All right! Let's do it, son--it's now or never!" 

"I'm off!" With a jaunty grin, Trunks bounded into the air, alighting at the ship's hatchway. Before he hit the 'Close' button on the door panel, he turned to see his mother, who remained a safe distance from the launch pad, her hands clasped at her chest, watching him with such love and pride that it made a lump rise in his throat. He raised his arm to wave to her, putting all his own hope and love into his final goodbye. She waved to him in return. 

And then he was slapping the door key and whirling away, hurrying to the cockpit while a strange heat rose in his face, burning behind his eyes. He strapped himself into the pilot's seat, checking guages and dials as he gripped the control stick and the throttle. Everything was in place, even as he swiped unfamiliar moisture from his cheeks. "3...2...1..." he counted to himself as he took a deep breath and prepared. "_Liftoff_." 

He eased the throttle forward, feeling the engines' low hum begin to rise to a powerful rumble. The ship shook; with a heavy sensation and a thundrous roar, the _Dream_ began to rise. 

After a few moments, it took some courage on Trunks' part to look out the port window to see the horizon looking very far away indeed. "It's working!" he exclaimed to himself, overjoyed. "Yes!" He leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of his home city in one of the side viewports...but it was directly behind him, and he could barely see the edges of the half-demolished former urban sprawl. A normal human would have been pinned to their seat by the G-forces of the launch, but Trunks was far from normal, and he barely felt the increased pressure. 

Still accelerating, the _Dream_ bore him ever higher, while the Earth's edge spread out before him, growing more and more curved. The blue of the sky seemed to melt before his eyes, growing darker and darker as pinpricks of light appeared--like time-delay sunset, only without any hints of orange or yellow. The velvety indigo of deep space stretched out before him like a vast new playing field, lit by distant orbs of light around which orbited countless hubs of life. 

Breathless, Trunks watched the vista of space unfold before him. Weren't stars supposed to be white? There was no word for the awesome sight of glistening hints of colors in each shining jewel; many stars were shaded to a new hue--crystalline blue, faint yellow, sparkling green, quartzlike pink... He had never seen _colors_ in stars before. Outside the Earth's atmosphere, were his Saiyan eyes somehow able to pick up wavelengths of light previously dimmed by the thickness of the air? He didn't know...but it was so beautiful he couldn't speak, could barely breathe. He felt a pull beckoning him onward into the sea of glittering lights. The huge ocean of space called to something deep within him; his hand tightened on the throttle as he answered by increasing his little ship's power. 

There were still tears coming from his eyes, even through his elation--his flight was a bittersweet one. He was heading out on a grand new adventure, like nothing he had ever experienced...but he was also leaving Earth; leaving _home_. This was nothing like his little jaunt in the time machine, just hopping from one era to the next, remaining on his own familiar little world and still among generally familiar faces. Now... 

Now he was venturing into a far greater unknown than the past. He was leaving the only home he'd ever known. Like a Saiyan child from Planet Vegeta, he was spinning out alone into the stars. 

While Trunks blasted away from the planet of his birth, the cosmos trembled in apprehension. 

A Saiyan was on the move in the depths of space once again. 

* * * * *

Bulma squinted and shaded her eyes, watching the bright speck that was Trunks' _Dream_ as it strove for the stars. Her own eyes were streaming with tears, but she didn't seem to notice; she was utterly focused on her son's fiery ascent. 

"Go, Trunks, go!" she whispered, cheering him on though he couldn't hear her. "I know you'll succeed." 

Finally, after long minutes, she could no longer make out any trace of the tiny point of light. Once she lost sight of it, she turned and dashed into her home, heading for her bedroom study where she had set up the controls to the transponder unit. 

The special homing device she'd invented was the most powerful piece of equipment she'd installed on that little spaceship--a tight-beam transponder relay that let her know his exact position, wherever he was in space. On the roof of Capsule Corporation's dome rested a big new satellite antenna, which received the information from above and fed it to the computer in her study. She'd be able to keep accurate track of Trunks' progress with it. 

Sitting down in her chair, she switched on the unit and waited until the transponder finished diagnostics and loading. In a few moments, the screen lit up. "Ah, there you are!" 

The bright blip that represented Trunks' ship hovered above a large blue wireframe sphere, a representation of Earth. It was rapidly gaining speed, pulling away from the planet, showing that the accelerated engines her father had improved from the original Saiyan design--and that she had improved even _more_--were working quite well. Soon, Trunks' ship flashed past the moon and was well on its way to the outer planets. 

_That's my boy,_ she thought affectionately, touching the little dot on the screen. _You'll make it--I know you will. You have hope, and faith...and the **Dream**._

_When destiny calls you, you must be strong.   
I may not be with you, but you've got to hold on.   
They'll see in time, I know;   
We'll show them together. _

'Cause you'll be in my heart,   
Believe me, you'll be in my heart;   
I'll be there from this day on,   
Now and forever more.   
--Phil Collins, **"You'll Be In My Heart"**

  
* * * * * 

Aside from the novelty of being in outer space for the first time--although that wore off after the first couple of days--Trunks found himself with little to ponder as he rode the starwinds in his little ship, the _Dream_. Once he was clear of the solar system--which had taken all of three hours--the ship pretty much flew itself, following its preprogrammed course to New Namek. There was little for Trunks to do, besides routine daily checks of essential engine functions and to make sure he was still on course. 

Now that he'd watched all the videos, played all the computer games, and listened to all the music he'd brought with him, he was getting really bored. There was no real place to train aboard the _Dream_; it was all cramped living space and ship's engines. And he found himself rather...antsy without any way to burn off the energy that slowly built up within him. It was annoying to be cooped up inside a little capsule day in and day out, for what had been a week and a half now. 

And the other annoying thing was that he was _hungry_, too. 

It wasn't that desperate, belly-twisting hunger that claimed him after a heavy exhertion or going too many hours without eating. It was a nagging, low-grade gnawing that gripped his insides and made his temper grow short. His mother's careful rations, made to accomodate the nutrients and calories he and the others would need for the duration of this two-way trip, didn't feel like enough. His body was getting what it needed to function in perfect health--but his stomach wanted to be full, dammit! Being a Saiyan, without any fighting or training to do, his body fell back on what lay next on its list of priorities--food. It was strangely infuriating to be unable to simply plop down in front of the table and eat until his belly ceased its complaints. But if he ate too much now he'd go even hungrier later; even the ship's larder was packed with intricate, exacting precision because everything down to the last nut and bolt had to be precisely weighed for inertia and fuel economy. 

As hungry as he was, he was seriously missing his mother's good home cooking. 

_Aw, why'd I have to go and think about that? Now I'm even hungrier!_ he mused dejectedly, turning over on the couch-like resting seat in the main living area. He stretched his feet out and rested one arm over his forehead, staring at the ceiling. He tried to ignore the familiar tension in his guts as his stomach quietly informed him that it was not filled to capacity. _I've already used up today's rations. Man, I knew Mom should have packed extras..._

He began to appreciate what his mother put up with while raising him, catering to his Saiyan feeding habits and seeing to it that he had everything he needed and wanted; he'd never paid this much attention to his enormous appetite before. There had barely been enough room on the ship to store what he needed, and what the others would need when they arrived--and it was all encapsulated, at that! 

_Stupid stomach,_ he thought petulantly, sourly, as he stared into nothing. _Stupid rations, stupid ship, stupid Saiyan appetite..._

A brief, humming vibration quivered through the ship, causing him to sit up abruptly. After a second, he recognized the sensation as the ship's static field repelling a slightly-larger-than-safe object from the hull. As always, he held his breath, waiting to be sure that nothing bad had happened with that particular close brush. 

He nearly sat down again when the vibration returned, again brief. Now _that_ was odd; usually he only had one of those every couple of days, at most. But _two_ in one day? _Very_ strange. 

He had no time for further thought when a hugely different vibration shuddered through the ship, hard enough to send him and several loose objects tumbling to the floor. He hit and rolled with a startled yelp, not expecting _anything_ so drastic as that...near-miss with whatever-it-was. Suddenly alerted, he clawed his way to his feet and made for the cockpit. 

He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. 

Streaking by mere feet away from the rocking little ship were massive asteroids, hunks of broken rock the size of houses, cities, _states!_ Some rushed by so close he could almost _feel_ them whisking finish from the side of his ship. Gasping, he dove for the pilot's chair and throttled down, slowing the little ship drastically so that he could actually see and anticipate the massive stones. The speed he'd been going, not even a Super Saiyan could have reacted in time, and the ship itself certainly couldn't. 

It turned out he slowed down just in time. A football-field-sized monster loomed in front of him, and he veered desperately, pulling hard up and right. _Whew! If I hadn't come up here just now, I'd have been a new crater and a messy smear on that thing's dark side!_

But he had no time for thought now; he was in the thick of them, desperately steering around them, struggling for maneuverability in a ship that was never made to jockey among asteroids like a starfighter. He suddenly felt utterly vulnerable and alone; Super Saiyan or not, all that stood between him and death was this ship's thin metal skin--a skin that seemed so very much thinner than his own. 

Another near miss made him bite his lip; he concentrated everything he had in getting through this asteroid belt. Around another moon-shard giant, under two strangely rolling ones, through a hole in that narrow stony one... And he could see the end! Ahead, the asteroids thinned as the bright field of space awaited him. 

He was so overjoyed to see the end to this nightmare that he never noticed another of the oddly spinning asteroids brush perilously close to his already-scratched spaceship. The jutting edge of the jagged rock knocked the _Dream_ off course, sending it spinning wildly toward another asteroid. Trunks regained control just soon enough to glance off of it instead of colliding directly, but the jolts his ship was taking were too much. 

Unable to avoid several jarring collisions, Trunks swore as the _Dream_ settled into a lazy, multi-axial spin and the engines sputtered and died. He could hear pressure alarms ringing all around him, and stress guages read that his hull had been pierced by the impacts in several places. The computer indicated that his third engine was completely nonfunctional, and the fuel pipes leading to it were obviously cracked and leaking--an explosive hazard which made him dearly hope there weren't any sparking wires down there. And his air--precious air that not even the mightiest of Super Saiyans could live without--was rushing away into space. 

"No..." he rasped, unbuckling his straps and racing aft to check on the damage. _I can't let this happen..._

"No!" The wind from the gaping holes tugged at him; his stomach lurched strangely as the artificial gravity faltered and the ship's unnatural spin pulled him in odd directions--but he didn't think the sickening sensation came only from the inertia problems. He stared fixedly at the dark gaps in his ship's hull, each one like a miniature black hole prepared to devour him alive. _Mom...I promised...I can't die like this...I can't leave her alone!_

"_No!_" He railed against the injustice of the universe, his rage and sorrow burning in a bright blue corona around him as he raced to think of a way to stop this disaster, or at least _slow_ it a little. He refused to acknowledge the futility of his situation--there had to be a way to survive this! _I can't die now...not now, she'll be all alone...Mom...I promised her I'd come home!_

"_**Nooo!**_" 

* * * * *

The soft _ping_ing noise slowly drew Bulma out of her sleep. Blearily, she sat up out of bed and peered around, looking perplexed. It gradually sank in to her cobwebbed brain that the beeping was coming from her study next door, so she rose, pulled on her robe, and stumbled into the next room. 

The computer was sitting there peacefully, flashing a message and signaling with an alarm she'd only added as an afterthought, because she'd been so confident. "Signal Lost" stated the warning message. "Transponder no longer transmitting." 

Her hands fell to her sides. She stared at the screen, which still blinked with the _Dream_'s last confirmed location--but this time in a blood-red dot. If the transmitter on the ship was no longer functioning, that meant that it had somehow been damaged. And she'd built the darn thing with backups and failsafes beyond anything else on the ship, because she'd wanted to know where her boy was at all times--to know that he was alive and safe. There was no way to shut it off or break it down, unless...unless... 

"Oh, no...!" 

She fell into her chair, her knees suddenly too weak to support her insubstantial weight. Something in her heart tightened and shattered, her eyes welling up with tears even as her mind refused--_adamantly_ refused to process what she was seeing. She couldn't move, could only stare at the screen. _It's all some kind of crazy dream...has to be... The ship...oh good Lord...the ship can't be..._

"Oh, please, dear God, _no_...!" She was crying openly now, unable to think of any other way for the transponder to have been destroyed. "Not my baby...not my Trunks...he promised me...he _promised!_" 

Leaning on the desk, she buried her face in her arms and sobbed, inconsolable. All the while, the computer placidly continued to emit its soft, strident alarm, its display still clearly flashing the message "Signal Lost." 

"_He promised me he'd come home!_" 

_No words describe a mother's tears,   
No words can heal a broken heart;   
A dream is gone, but where there's hope... _   
--Phil Collins, **"Two Worlds, One Family"**

  
_To be continued..._


	5. Wake Up to Reality

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

  
_Somewhere, something is calling for you;   
Two worlds, one family.   
Trust your heart, let Fate decide   
To guide these lives we see._   
--Phil Collins, **"Two Worlds, One Family"**

  
**Chapter 5: Wake Up To Reality**

_"Not my baby...not my Trunks...he promised me...he **promised!**_" 

_Mom..._

His mother was crying. He knew it somehow--he caught the echoes of her soul, the ripples in space finally reaching him. He could hear her sobbing uncontrollably, could feel the intensity of her grief--lonely, long-suffering grief. And she was grieving because of him. Because he had left her alone. Because he had broken his promise. 

_Mom...I'm so sorry...I want to come home..._

He was dead, wasn't he? This wasn't what the afterlife had looked like when Dende had brought him there...all liquid and black. He couldn't see...and his head hurt abominably. Was it supposed to hurt this much after death? Or was that part of his punishment? He breathed slowly, his chest aching...and his heartbeat throbbed in his temples painfully. 

Wait. Pain was optional, but people do _not_ breathe nor have a heartbeat when they are dead. 

_I'm...alive...?_

He was breathing. Easily--almost too easily. Another thing he soon came to realize was that he was warm again. And lying flat. He appeared to be awake... _Hello? Testing, testing, this is the brain of Trunks Briefs..._ Well, his mind still _worked_, at least. As his brain began to become more alert, hazy memories assaulted him. He remembered... _The lights were gone in his cramped space, the power long out. It was getting cold, so very cold; he shivered uncontrollably, curling tighter into himself to conserve warmth. The air was growing so thin that each inhalation was a painful effort...he took panting, open-mouthed breaths like an overheated dog and struggled to stay conscious..._

There were voices speaking not too far away, but they were hazed and watery to his ears. He drew another breath--ah, the air was so clean and thick and pleasant, even though his chest hurt--daring to open his eyes. The light stung in his eyes, and he squinted painfully. Gradually, his vision adjusted enough to make out a drab off-white ceiling. 

_Nope...not pretty enough to be Heaven...not hot enough to be Hell... Yup, I'm alive. But...how did I make it?_

Turning his eyes slowly left and right, orienting himself, he realized that he seemed to be in some highly technological room. His mind fished up the fact that he was probably shipboard, evidenced by the low, echoing hum that vibrated through the chamber. The walls were the same dull, gray-white paneling, and there were important-looking instruments on some of them. He let out a soft groan and tried to shift, to move and stretch. He wanted to get himself back on his feet and active, to clear his mind--but mostly he just wanted off this hard table. 

_What the hell...?_

With a start that jolted slowly and painfully through his sluggish muscles, Trunks found himself restrained--manacled. His Saiyan fear of being trapped brought him fully awake probably before it was a good idea--his vision swam groggily as his head lifted off the headrest. He tried to focus, but found that his forearms and legs were fastened by steel clamps. 

"Goro, he's awake," said a gravelly, accented voice. "Get the cap'n." 

"Get 'im yourself, snotbrain. You're on duty," replied another in a liquid, gurgly tone. 

"Fine, fine, as ya like." 

Trunks oriented on the voices just in time to see a thin, blue, long-tailed figure disappear out a sliding door, too blurry to see close detail. The one who was called Goro, apparently, was a short, tubby alien with four eyes and green, pebbly skin. His eyes gradually began to focus more clearly on his surroundings. 

_A...medical facility?_ Trunks wondered. _On a ship, somehow? But who...?_

"What's up in there, Nuriz?" asked a rough, masculine voice from the hallway. 

"The pris'ner's open'd 'is peepers," the blue scaly one--Nuriz--responded. "Cap'n need's ta know." 

"Hey, he's awake? I wanna see him." 

"Stay outta here, Kalifer," Goro said over his shoulder, out the door, as Nuriz's footsteps stalked off. "We don't need you ripping the prisoner apart before the captain gets to. No matter how much you like it." 

_That didn't sound so good._

"Buzz off, tub-toad." The speaker shoved into the room as though Goro were beneath his notice. Trunks gasped and tried to sit up again, eyes widening in surprise when he saw the newcomer, who stalked fearlessly over to him. 

Kalifer gave a feral grin as their eyes met, his thick, heavy brows drawn down over large, angular dark eyes--nocturnal eyes; eyes far too large to be set in a human face. His shaggy black hair, wild and manelike, was bound in a rough ponytail that reached his shoulder blades, with bangs that hung in spiky clumps around his forehead. He wasn't wearing armor; instead, he was clothed in a shipboard suit, much like an engineer's coveralls, that only served to highlight the squarish, chiseled, muscular form. His body exuded strength, and the aura of energy he wore was that of a wild, ferocious power--a very _familiar_ kind of power. A long, furry brown tail waved eagerly behind him, the tip curled up and twitching over the deck. 

_My God...he's a...a Saiyan!_ Trunks made a sharp, startled noise and drew back as Kalifer leaned over him. 

"Well now, aren't you a find?" Kalifer drawled, his voice low and rough. "The captain of the little wreck. And quite a few interesting gadgets we found on that wreck, too. Won't you tell me where you're from, squirt?" 

Trunks finally found his voice. "No!" he managed to get out. He was far too shocked at seeing another member of his father's race to say much of anything coherent. 

Kalifer's Saiyan smirk somehow got smirkier. "I think we'll find out anyway. You'll tell us, eventually." His eyes scanned over Trunks' body. "Tiny little chap, aren't you? And purple hair!" The Saiyan chuckled unkindly. "Probably a nerd, too. A little weakling we found suffocating in an escape pod!" 

_The escape pod!_ Now he remembered! Less damaged than the rest of the ship, the escape pod afforded him some respite from oxygen loss, despite the fact that it refused to launch. But only temporarily was he safe; it too leaked air, and with the damage done to the ship's systems its power soon ran out as well. He had been cooped up in there for hours..._days_...starving, growing colder by the minute, and finding it increasingly hard to breathe...and then, slowly...nothingness... 

Kalifer leaned down a little too close for comfort, giving an intimidating Saiyan snarl/smile right in Trunks' face. "So, how much profit can we pry out of you, pretty boy?" 

"Kalifer," Goro warned. 

"Shut up, frog-face," Kalifer barked, not looking over his shoulder. He grinned again, more sinister this time. "I'm playing with my food." 

With any other creature, the snarl, the teeth, the power, and the threats might have worked. Kalifer was a dangerous Saiyan, a threatening young man who was secure in his power and prowess. On lesser beings, those half-instinctive Saiyan intimidation tactics worked wonders for guaranteeing obedience, cooperation, and general fear. Most victims would be melting into a gibbering puddle of terror at the sight of a young Saiyan male grinning at the prospect of reducing them to painful paste. 

However, that type of intimidation did absolutely _nothing_ to another young Saiyan male who was also quite confident in his own strength. 

Trunks gritted his teeth in a snarl worthy of an insulted Saiyan warrior. A growl escaped him; his ki jumped and he flexed his muscles, the steel bonds snapping like brittle wood. With a thundering yell, he nearly exploded off the table, the sheer force of his aura knocking the big Saiyan back. 

"What in seven hells--?" Goro squawked, shielding himself as Kalifer slammed into the wall beside him. 

"Stay away from me!" Trunks roared, not quite reaching Super Saiyan but coming close, his power flaring visibly blue-white around him. For a moment, the two others were immobile in surprise, their captive having suddenly become the center of a whirlwind. 

Abruptly, Trunks remembered he was aboard a vessel. With an effort, he controlled himself and stopped the tempest. He didn't want to accidentally wreck the ship and end up right back where he started. 

Kalifer lowered his arms and grinned with a low laugh, almost appraisingly. "So, the pup's got teeth, eh?" 

"What in the Cosmos' dairy air was that?" bellowed a gravelly, cruel voice. "Kalifer! What are you doing to the prisoner?" A big, round, brown-skinned alien waddled through the doorway, his face resembling that of a snapping turtle, his three-fingered hands fisted on his hips. His orange eyes narrowed when they fixed on Trunks. 

Goro answered first. "Kalifer didn't do it, Captain sir. It was Purple-Hair over there." 

A tall, powerfully built, ram-faced alien stepped through the sliding door. He wore a uniform, but it was fairly obvious that his entire body was covered in sleek gold-tan fur. He had a pair of large curled horns on his head, like those of a bighorn sheep, and he walked on hooves like a faun. "The energy discharge overloaded our the active scouters, Goro," the alien said, his deep voice smooth and resonant. He held up the wrecked remains of his own instrument. 

"Did you do that?" 

Trunks focused on the round brown alien who had spoken. "Huh?" 

"Answer me quick, runt--did you do that?" the captain snapped again. 

"Uh..." Trunks thought it safe to play it innocent until he figured out who all these aliens were. "I, uh, guess so." 

"Who are you, runt? Where are you from? What were you doing out here in the Badlands?" The captain's questions were staccato-quick. 

Trunks drew himself up to his full height--although it wasn't much, thanks to his father's blood. "I was on my way through this space when I hit an asteroid." 

"I'm still asking where you're from, runt," the captain repeated. "Answer me or you'll suffer." 

"Does it matter?" Trunks snapped. "I'm going to suffer whether I tell you or not, so I'm not saying anything!" 

"Heh," Kalifer grunted, almost a laugh, as if in appreciation of Trunks' defiance. 

The captain smiled as well, but it was a cruel spreading of his beaklike mouth, not a kindly smile. "You've got spunk, runt--enough to match that scouter-popping power of yours. Tell me, can you fight?" 

"Well enough," Trunks replied, voice still low and dangerous. "Like to find out?" 

"You wouldn't be worth my time, space trash," the captain said blithely. "But I could use a strong little runt like you in my crew. I think I'll keep you on." 

"Why would I want to do that?" Trunks asked sullenly. "I was on my way somewhere, and it's important that I get there." 

The captain smiled again, widely and slowly. "Well, now, it's also important that you're still breathing, isn't it?" he drawled predatorily. "You owe us, runt. We picked you up when you were dying in that wreck. Unless you'd like to go back out there? I can arrange to drop you out an airlock any time." 

Trunks snarled at him. "You think you could?" His aura flashed briefly. 

"Don't waste your strength, _karaikoro_," Kalifer growled from behind his captain. "Better men than you have tried and failed. Why do you think I still work here?" 

The captain, without even looking behind him, slammed an elbow with crunching force into the big Saiyan's midriff, doubling him over with a grunt. Kalifer stumbled back against the wall and slid down it, squinting up at Trunks, who stood shocked at the casual display of cruelty. "See?" he gasped. "No one here is stronger than Captain Carro." 

"You'd better remember that, Runt," Carro said sharply. "You're on my boat whether you like it or not. Wherever else you thought you were going, you can forget it--you're working for _me_ now." 

Trunks snarled, but Carro ignored him and cuffed Goro on the shoulder. "Get back to your post, frog. And the rest of you, too. Our cargo won't wait for your curiosity." He glared at Trunks once again. "You, Runt! Your first order: Since you've made such good friends with the big monkey over here, you can see to his broken ribs. Get to it! Kalifer, watch this runt and get him stowed away." 

Without a backward glance, the heavyset alien stomped out of the cramped infirmary, his crew in tow. The ram-horned alien paused, regarding Trunks for a moment with flat-pupiled, gold-brown eyes, before following his captain. 

Trunks was left alone with Kalifer. 

"Heh," the big Saiyan huffed painfully. "I don't need a brat's help." He levered himself to his feet, still hunched, and leaned against the wall. "Not the first time he's knocked the wind outta me." 

Trunks stayed where he was, on the other side of the room. "He's done that before?" 

Kalifer shrugged, then winced. "He likes to do it--to remind me who's in charge." 

"Somebody ought to thrash his hide," Trunks growled. 

"Step on up and try it, _karaikoro_," Kalifer snapped back. "How could a runt like you have a hailstone's chance in a volcano? I know my strength, and I could never beat him." His voice carried an overtone of frustration and despair. 

Trunks shrugged, then began to look around the room, at the medical equipment. "Size doesn't count for much where I come from," he replied absently. He spotted something vaguely like medical tape on a shelf. "You need something for those ribs, at least until they heal. If you go banging around without support it'll hurt worse than getting your tail pulled. Do you keep pain relievers on this ship?" He glanced at Kalifer's healthy physique. "I'd give it about three hours before you're back on the job. Whatever it is you do on this tub." 

"Feh. I need a regen tank, that's what--wait. How did you know--?" 

"Can you tape yourself, or do you need a brat's help?" Trunks said sharply, quickly, to cover his slip. 

Kalifer immediately bristled, forgetting the tail remark. "I don't need anyone!" He snatched the roll of wide medical tape that Trunks tossed at him, glaring laser bolts as he gingerly removed the top of his uniform and began to wrap his midsection. 

Trunks regarded him, a little grain of empathy settling in his heart. Kalifer stood a head and a half taller--if he raised his arm horizontally Trunks could walk under it easily--but he didn't seem too much older than Trunks was; maybe only a couple years his senior. Yet he had all the world-weary cynicism of an old man; he'd seen it all and liked none of it. He must have had a tough life, a lonely castaway from a destroyed world. 

_Goku, my father, and those other two who died must not have been the only ones who survived Planet Vegeta's explostion,_ Trunks realized. _I wonder if there were others like Goku, sent out as babies to destroy worlds and no one ever came for them...or how many others there might be, little colonies struggling to find a place to survive in this galaxy. Could it be...? Maybe my father was wrong...maybe the Saiyans **aren't** all dead!_

He felt a shudder pass through him; he didn't know if it was good or bad that the infamous race of planet-killers still existed in some number. But then he looked at Kalifer, and felt his revulsion soften; not all Saiyans were evil, and they could improve--his father was a prime example. Kalifer wasn't _bad_. He just had never known the kindness of life on a planet like Earth. 

Not all the Saiyan survivors--if there _were_ any more--were as lucky as Goku and Vegeta. 

"Just what does Carro expect me to do here?" Trunks asked after a few minutes of contemplation, unable to contain his curiosity. 

"Probably cargo loading, like the rest of us," Kalifer replied gruffly, still working. "He'll have you on-the-job training for basic shipboard functions. You might even get galley duty 'cause you're so small. Combat, too. Pirates don't do everything legal." 

"_What_ did you say?" Trunks blurted. "_Pirates?_" 

Kalifer glanced up at him incredulously. "What, you didn't know? We're space pirates. Thought it was obvious, _karaikoro_." 

"N-no." Trunks leaned against the counter, hand pressed against his forehead, running fingers through his hair. Great. How had he fallen in with space pirates? _Rescue, my butt. They just wanted my ship--and to make me their slave! Well, I'd like to see that fat captain just **try!**_

Kalifer shrugged. "Pirates, smugglers, free enterpreneurs--however you want to fancy it up, that's what we are. We do some legal trade shipping, and some smuggling of illegal goods. We rob passing ships and sometimes planetside posts. We even pick up space trash to salvage. That's what we did when we found you. Or really, _I_ found you." 

"_You_ found me?" 

Kalifer rolled his eyes. "You're just full of questions, aren't you, _karaikoro_?" He set the medical tape on the counter and slipped on his tunic again. "We're on a legal shipping deal, this time. I spotted your wreck on the nav console, but Carro didn't want to stop for you--your ship was too small to be worth our time. I insisted we stop, and..." He grinned and lifted his arm, showing half-healed, three-fingered bruises on his forearm. "Actually, I crashed the navigation console so we had to stop. Can't go anywhere when the ship doesn't know where you want to go." 

"Why?" Trunks asked, suddenly touched. "Why did you risk getting hurt when you didn't even know...?" 

"Eh, no reason," Kalifer grunted. "Just though I shouldn't pass this up. I had a feeling--and I was right! Your ship's full of weird, neat junk! And you're not a bad find yourself--another strong crewer. You remind me of someone, too." He shrugged again. "'Sides, I'm used to getting banged around. Carro's been doing it since I was a brat." 

"What?" Trunks' head snapped up. "Just how long have you been on this ship?" 

Kalifer grunted. "Since I was a little kid. Carro attacked Rothuvar--that's my colony's planet--and razed the settlement. Killed my folks, my sister, and probably everyone else. I was the littlest, so he dragged me back to his ship like a pet." His eyes hardened, and his mouth twisted into a hint of a snarl. "I was a small kid, like most of my kind, so he carried me here by my tail and called me his little toy monkey. I worked years in the galley, cleaning the halls, and doing menial chores. Rest of the crew kicked me around like an animal. Heh, that's what most of the galaxy used to think my kind is. Monkeys..." 

Trunks' face scrunched up in sympathy. "That must have been hard for you." 

Kalifer shrugged, a seemingly typical move for him. "Huh, I don't care. Taught me to be tough." 

"But...to spend years in slavery, not being able to live up to your heritage..." Trunks remembered his experience with his Past-Time father in the Room of Space and Time, and the hints that Vegeta had shown him. He knew of the pride of his race. "Saiyans are warriors by nature--how did you stand it?" 

"Feh. It made me stronger. Carro finally let me start learning to fight when I was big enough, when he figured I could..." He broke off, his gaze going from reminiscent to analytical. "Wait a minute. That's the second time... How do you know about Saiyans?" 

"Uh..." Trunks mentally kicked himself for the slip and grasped for an excuse. "Well, you aren't exactly without a reputation, you know--?" 

"That's _ghyota_ crap, _karaikoro_," Kalifer barked. "The Saiyan race has been mostly extinct for way longer than even I've been alive. Nobody recognizes a Saiyan without his tail and his attitude--the galaxy may not have forgotten about us, but they sure don't know that much about us anymore. You're the first alien I've met in ten years who knows anything detailed about Saiyans." 

_Smarter than the average Saiyan?_ Trunks wondered. _Or else Goku's not your brightest example..._ "Um, I-I've heard..." 

"Come to think of it, how could a little weakling like you break durasteel manacles?" Kalifer pressed on, his face serious and contemplative. "But...your coloring's wrong..." he murmered. 

"Okay," Trunks sighed. "There was a Saiyan who grew up on my home planet. His son was my trainer when I was a kid. That's how I know." 

Kalifer's eyes snapped back to his face. "A Saiyan? On your home planet? Where is it?" 

"I won't tell you," Trunks replied sharply. "You're a pirate." 

"You little...!" The bigger Saiyan looked like he might try to beat it out of him, then shrugged. "Feh, never mind. You said 'was.' I take it he's dead?" 

Trunks nodded. "His son, too." 

"If he was the only one, how'd he have a son?" 

"My trainer was...a halfling." Trunks didn't name the other species that comprised Gohan's chromosomes, not wanting the pirates to know anything about his home planet. 

Kalifer glared at him skeptically, snorting. "_Torugar_, eh? Bunch of freaks, half-breed Saiyans." 

Trunks winced. "Why...why is that?" 

"Species from different planets usually aren't genetically compatible with each other," Kalifer explained gruffly. "And hybrids come out sterile, deformed, and usually insane--it's a rare thing that a half-Saiyan can even live long past birth, much less grow up or fight. They're feeble--polluted by weak non-Saiyan blood. Your trainer must have been one of the luckier ones...but then, your kind looks enough like..." His gaze turned sharply contemplative again, and he examined Trunks one more time. "Pah, it's nothing. Let's get to work, _karaikoro_. Apparently Carro's assigned me to babysit you." His gruff, surly Saiyan attitude came back into full swing as he gestured for Trunks to follow him. "Come on." 

A little struck by Kalifer's frank disdain for non-Saiyans and his obvious disgust for half-breeds, Trunks warily followed the bigger youth out into the corridor. It was long and drab and gray, just like the room he'd left. "What is that you keep calling me?" he asked. 

Kalifer glanced over his shoulder. "What--_karaikoro_?" 

Trunks nodded. "What does that mean? Is it a name?" 

"Hm." Kalifer shrugged--it seemed to be his most common expression, one of indifference. "It's in Saiyan. I guess it means 'purple-hair' in Standard. Heh..._karaikoro-sonjuka_...'purple-hair small one.' I've been calling you that name since you didn't give me one to call you." 

_Karaikoro...sonjuka..._ Trunks thought for a moment. Being called "Little Purple-Haired One" wasn't exactly the most appealing thing for a warrior--but it might work as a pseudonym until he could get away from these pirates. "_Karaikoro sonjuka_," he murmered aloud; but it wasn't a name, it was a sentence in another language. _Shorten it, maybe...?_ "Karaikoro..." 

"Say it all you want--nobody else knows Saiyan," Kalifer grumbled, leading him along. "It's pretty much a dead language." 

_All the better!_ Trunks fought back a grin. _Perfect._ "You can call me that if you want," he said. 

Kalifer glanced back at him oddly. "Huh?" 

"I mean, that's what you pirates can call me: Karaikoro. Besides, you said no one else knows your language--it'll be a good nickname." 

"You mean you don't want us to know your real name," Kalifer snorted, shrugging. He stopped in the middle of the corridor. "It's a stupid face-name, but whatever you want. I won't say anything to Carro." He grinned, clapping a sinewy hand on Trunks' shoulder. "You got guts to buck the captain like that, squirt. I like it--it'll be our private joke. Anyway..." 

Trunks raised his eyebrows when Kalifer poked a button on the wall panel, which opened a narrow hatch before them. "What's this?" 

"My quarters," Kalifer explained. "Carro wants me to keep an eye on you. There's no other empty rooms, and I doubt a little squirt like you would last long trying to room with some of the brutes on this boat. My quarters are small, but you can bunk with me. Long as you don't snore--or try to kill me in my sleep." 

"Uh...no." Trunks poked his head in. The room was tiny, roughly five feet wide and eight long, just bunks in one wall and a closet/cabinet with sliding doors in the other--very reminiscient of the tiny bunk-rooms on his own ship. It didn't even have a window, but was surprisingly tidy for what he'd imagined of a Saiyan's quarters. The blankets on the bottom mattress were rumpled. "I take it I get the top." 

Kalifer cuffed his shoulder. "Take it or sleep in the galley." 

Trunks stepped in and looked around. "This is it, huh?" 

Kalifer shrugged. "Well, it ain't the Rolinds Hotel, but it's home. Make yourself comfortable." The bigger Saiyan sat on his bunk, only to jump back up at the sound of a high-pitched squeal. 

"_Yeeeeep! Ouchies!_" 

"_Yow!_ Damn you, Spit, get outta my cabin!" Kalifer roared, jerking back his bedcovers to reveal a tiny, cowering creature. 

The little thing looked up at them through beady yellow eyes. Trunks wrinkled his nose; the thing resembled an eighteen-inch furry lizard with six clingy paws and bat wings, a pair of large triangular ears darting this way and that. One could hardly tell if it was reptile, mammal, or insect. 

"Eesa no problem, Kallie!" the lizard-creature said in a squeaky, burbly voice, wriggling like an eager puppy on the bed. "Me goin' right now!" Spit spotted Trunks. "Oooo, Kallie gots a new friend, eee? Hesa reely teeny fellow, yes? Mebbe he bein' my friend, hesa teeny like me!" 

Trunks grimaced; Spit's crawly ways and high-pitched voice gave him the shivers, and the alien creature's smell was none-too-pleasant. 

"I don't think so, lizard-bug," Kalifer growled, grabbing Spit by the wings and tossing him out the door. "Get lost." 

Spit wailed, but the cry cut off when he hit the far wall with a _thump_. The creature got up and shook himself, then skittered away down the corridor, mumbling. "Okie, okie! Meen can take a hints! Sheh, biggie butt Seeyan settin' on me--oughta take a bite outta hees tail next time..." 

Kalifer rolled his eyes and sat back down on the bunk as the door slid shut on the little thing's ramblings. "That's Spit," he explaned resignedly. "Nosy critter, general busybody, and Carro's personal pet spy. Gets into everything--he's a real chameleon. Watch out for him; he's sneaky and he tells Carro everything he hears. If you've got secrets, don't speak 'em carelessly." 

"Gotcha." Trunks didn't feel comfortable enough to sit, so he leaned against the wall. They stayed like that for several minutes before Kalifer broke the silence. 

"You just gonna stand there all day?" 

Trunks sighed. "Could I at least get my personal stuff out of my ship? If I'm gonna be here a while I might as well get comfortable." _Only until we reach a planet. Then I'm getting me and my ship the hell off this rust bucket and back on my way to Namek._

"There's no such thing as comfortable on this boat, squirt." Kalifer frowned, standing up from the bed. "You can try talking to Taliquin about it." Then he grinned, shoving Trunks' shoulder in a companionable manner. "Now c'mon, Karaikoro, let's head to Engineering. I'll show you some of the ropes. Don't forget where my quarters are--I won't always be around to hold your hand." 

"Don't worry about me. I'm smarter than I look." Trunks grinned back at him, allowing a bit of a Saiyan smirk into his expression. Kalifer actually wasn't that bad a guy--just a bitter young Saiyan raised by cruel space pirates. Maybe when he got away from the creeps, he'd ask Kalifer if he wanted to come with him. 

After all, they were both Saiyans. 

  
_To be continued..._


	6. Day to Day

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

  
**Chapter 6: Day to Day**

"Man, I'm _starving_," Trunks grumbled, almost to himself. 

"Join the club, Karaikoro," Kalifer replied with a dark grin. "Slop time's not for another two hours." 

Trunks scowled as his stomach produced an audible gurgling rumble of protest at its emptiness. He'd already been hungry to start with, before his incident with the asteroids, but then he'd gone who-knew-how-long in the cold, empty escape pod--and now he was positively _famished_. He was starving enough that he could _feel_ the lack of fuel in his body; his muscles felt a touch rubbery and his ki seemed somewhat wan. Add that to his nagging slight headache, the soreness in his chest, and his hunger-induced irritability, and it became apparent that Trunks was definitely not in top form, nor would he be until he got some food and rest. 

The two Saiyan youths had spent the last hour or so in Engineering, staying clear of Nuriz, the blue-scaled reptillian Chief Engineer. Kalifer explained the function of this section, and how it controlled most of the important aspects of the ship, in simple straightforward terms that showed that the full-Saiyan didn't have too tight a grasp on mechanics and such himself, but understood in general what everything was supposed to do. 

Basic engineering principles came easily to Trunks--after all, he was the son of Earth's resident genius, Bulma, and had just recently assisted in the construction of his own vessel. Not that he said as much to Kalifer. But the burlier Saiyan was impressed with Trunks' present grasp of mechanics, and how well he comprehended new information. Even Nuriz had stopped his work to watch Trunks operate one of the consoles, raising a scaly brow ridge at how quickly Trunks passed up Kalifer in terms of knowledge. Nuriz practically ordered Kalifer to have Trunks assigned to the Engineering section when next he spoke to Taliquin. 

Kalifer showed him around to various other stations--Cargo, Security, Requisitions, Weapons, and especially his own section, Navigation. He wasn't the chief of that department, but he was one of the best navigators on board; he had excellent visual memory and an eye for plotting quick, direct, safe routes through space. 

The last place Trunks was shown was the galley--and it was just about dinner time as well. Once the door was opened, Trunks nearly ran down his larger companion to hurry in, blue eyes wide and eager, nose almost visibly twitching as he tried to see what kind of food was available and how soon he could get at it. There were crewers everywhere, some in a line before the kitchen area and some at the various bench tables eating their meals, and the room rang loudly with many-voiced conversations coming from many different kinds of mouths. The smells coming from the cooking area were not nearly as pleasant as his mother's kitchen, but at this point, any food smelled sweeter than roses. The scent of whatever was on the stove made him salivate as he and Kalifer took their places in the line. 

"Whatever that is, I hope there's a lot of it," Trunks said, just loudly enough to be heard over the galley's din. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse." 

"Whatever a horse is, it better not be too big," Kalifer responded, arms folded across his chest. "I wouldn't count on much slop if I were you. Urun isn't a good cook, and he's not too generous either." 

The galley was as noisy and raucous as a high-school cafeteria, and the "bread line" at the kitchen area was similarly arranged. There were no trays, but a few high stacks of dishes. Trunks followed Kalifer's example and grabbed a plate and a bowl, both made of a thick gray plastic. 

Urun, the cook, turned out to be something like an almost-humanoid octopus. Blotched green-and-brown in color, he had a broad flat face and two large, swiveling eyes, and stood on four of his thicker tentacles while six others maneuvered ladles and tongs for the food. Even as weird as he looked, his expression still seemed sour and unpleasant as he served up the crewers' meals. 

Trunks eagerly held out his dishes beside Kalifer's when it came their turn to be served. Upon spotting Trunks, Urun hesitated, eyeing him briefly before serving up the chow. Into the bowl went a thick yellowish stew-porridge that smelled almost like greasy potatoes. The tongs set a few chunks of some grilled mystery meat on his plate, while beside them was placed some slices of what appeared to be some kind of tuber or root vegetable, an orangey-brown in color almost like a yam. 

As they headed out of line, Kalifer showed him where to grab a strange three-pronged fork and a broad-dished utensil that resembled a soup spoon from a mixed bin, then led him over to one of the empty tables in a far corner of the room. Now that he'd been there a while, people were beginning to notice him, and he could feel various crewers' eyes on him as he sat down on the table's bench and readied his silverware. 

"I usually eat alone," Kalifer informed him. "No one on this boat wants to sit with a Saiyan." 

"Their loss," Trunks replied with a shrug, earning an odd look from his companion. Before beginning, he carefully inspected his food. "Okay, what is this?" he asked finally. 

Kalifer sat down across from him, then stabbed a chunk of meat and held it up on his fork. "This is grilled _yarak_--which is a sort of plant-eater that's fat and plentiful on several planets. This stuff--" He gestured to the bowl. "--appears to be _lutanim_ soup; that's a sea-tuber so it might be a bit salty. And _this_ dratted vegetable is _gom_, the most common and disgusting root in the entire galaxy." Kalifer made a face as he shoved at the vegetable on his plate. Obviously, it was not his favorite food. 

"I guess it's okay for me to eat, then," Trunks said, pulling his plate closer. If Kalifer could stand to eat this stuff, then it must be safe for Saiyans. Without further ado, he dug in, eating as only a starving Saiyan could. 

Which immediately amazed Kalifer, to say the least. The other Saiyan was left staring at Trunks in a sort of morbid surprise, only half of his meat finished, too startled to continue. Trunks had wolfed down the _yarak_, swallowed the _gom_ slices almost whole, and gulped the soup in less than a minute, and was now licking his chops and looking for more. 

"That wasn't so bad," the purple-haired youth said. "Can I get in line for seconds?" 

Kalifer stared at him for another moment, then blinked and took another bite of meat. "Nope. That's it, squirt. That's all of dinner for the day." 

That took a second to sink in. "_What?_" Trunks almost yelled. "That's _all_ I get?" His wide eyes and slack jaw looked so stricken that Kalifer almost began to laugh, nearly choking on his nasty-tasting _gom_. 

"Should be a good enough meal for a little guy like you," Kalifer chuckled, once he'd cleared his throat of the offending _gom_. "Heh, you eat like a starving Saiyan." 

Trunks froze. "Well, uh, I haven't had much to eat lately..." 

"Try slowing down next time; it'll make your food last longer." Kalifer held up his last piece of _gom_, waving it in front of Trunks' eyes as though it were a steak before a hungry tiger. "Slow down, and never spill a drop--I learned that lesson early. You'll just have to wait. It's only fair--everyone else gets one turn as well." 

Trunks scowled petulantly. Well, _this_ sucked. Here he was aboard a big old pirate ship, and the meals were even skimpier than he'd had aboard his own cramped little vessel. And he'd been complaining _then!_ "Crap. Is there anything to drink?" he grumbled. 

"Cups're on that stack, drinks are in those coolers." The Saiyan pointed vaguely toward a couple of big jugs on the counter across the room. "Water and whatever juice Urun felt like serving today. Bring me some water while you're at it." 

"Sure." Trunks rose and headed for the cups and jugs, grabbing a gray plastic cup and reaching for one of the jugs. Before he could, however, someone jostled past him, shoving him roughly aside. "_Hey!_" 

"Out of the way, short-stack!" growled a deep voice. A green-skinned humanoid crewer filled his own cup with dark red juice, contemptuously ignoring the purple-haired half-Saiyan's silent snarl at him. 

Trunks glared, teeth half-bared, holding his temper in check while the taller man finished his business and went on his way. He didn't want to start any fights, but he was in no mood to be pushed around. Glaring after the man, he stepped up to taste-test the dark juice. He put a little in the bottom of his cup, but found it unpalatably bitter, so he went with plain water instead. 

"Who was that green jerk?" he grumbled to Kalifer when he returned to his seat. He slid the second cup of water to his companion. 

"Never mind him," Kalifer replied with a shrug, taking a swallow of water. "There's a lot like him on this boat. Scum like that used to shove me around, 'til I got big enough to stop 'em." 

"I would have let him have it, but I didn't want to start a brawl in here," Trunks said. 

"Feh--you? Don't get your tail kicked, Karaikoro. Braggarts like him actually have the muscle to back up their mouths. He'd squash you like a bug." 

"Maybe not." Trunks sipped the water, frowning when he found it a bit off-tasting--but compared to the juice, he had little to complain about. 

"It's bound to happen a lot," Kalifer told him. "Used to happen to me all the time. You're new, _and_ you're little--better get used to it." 

Trunks frowned fiercely and finished his water, not feeling much better than when he started. His stomach still knotted; that "meal" had been little more than a snack, barely taking the edge off his hunger. 

Kalifer apparently interpreted his sullen expression correctly. "I'm hungry too, Karaikoro. But there's nothing either of us can do--that's just the way it is. This ship should have been named _Spacer's Hell_, not _Wyrkel's Fire_." The Saiyan shrugged. "Just do the best you can. Maybe someday Carro will let you go." 

Trunks didn't reply. Instead, he stared at the cup in his hands, mind working. _Damn straight that fat bastard's going to let me go--and a lot sooner than you think, Kalifer. And you're coming with me--you're the only other Saiyan I've found alive, and if you feel the same as I do, you'll jump at the chance to leave this hellhole of a ship behind!_

As crewers began to filter out of the galley, meal-time coming to a close, the two Saiyans dumped their dishes in the receptacle and beat a hasty retreat; Kalifer warned that Urun often shanghaied late eaters into dish-washing duty. Trunks had no trouble helping with dishes at home, but the thought of cleaning up after dozens of sloppy crewers of uknown origins made him scurry out with the same furtive hurry that Kalifer had. 

After the meal, Kalifer brought him to the bridge, where First Mate Taliquin stood on duty. During his interview with the First Mate, to ask if he could have some of his personal items from his wrecked spaceship, it was recommended to Taliquin that Trunks might work in Engineering with Nuriz. His obvious skills there made him a likely candidate for science and engineering duty, and after a brief question-and-answer session with Taliquin, the ram-horned officer agreed that Trunks should be assigned to Nuriz's department. 

Trunks was allowed to fetch his clothing and personal goods from his wrecked ship, and the First Mate carefully inspected what he chose to bring, making sure the young half-Saiyan wasn't trying to trick them. In a way, Trunks was glad that he'd chosen to leave his sword safely encapsulated for the journey through space. For one thing, he and his mother had originally thought it would be just another several pounds of needless deadweight for the ship to carry. And now, Trunks feared that his favored weapon might have been confiscated and sold for profit by these ruthless pirates; it was a sword of fine craftsmanship and worth a pretty penny to those who fancied that type of weapon. At least Nuriz and his flunkies hadn't yet figured out what capsules were and how they worked, despite all the time they spent picking through the _Dream_. 

Trunks seethed with rage every time he saw Captain Carro, but kept quiet, not wanting harm to come to Kalifer by his actions. Or, by some slim chance, himself. Carro or one of his men just might be able to dump him into space by surprise, even if Trunks was several magnitudes stronger than any of them; even the most powerful of warriors can be taken by a weaker opponent if he's not careful. So he swallowed his pride and let Carro go unharmed, not showing his anger at all. 

Time was passing into the ship's "night" rotation, and the corridor lights were dimmer here in the living sections. Resentful, tired, and hungry, Trunks carried his case of belongings to Kalifer's quarters, where the bigger Saiyan showed him where to stow his gear. The half-human youth barely spared the time to shove his things into his half of the cramped closet. As Kalifer turned out all of the lights but the small one in his bunk, Trunks pulled himself up to the upper bed and flopped down, facing the wall. 

Kalifer stood there for a minute, gazing at Trunks' back, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face. Then, with a deep breath, he flicked off the bunk light, stripped out of his coveralls, and climbed into bed. 

* * * * * 

"Come on, squirt, roll out!" A rough hand shook his shoulder, jarring him out of sleep. "Get your butt outta bed!" 

Trunks, startled by the gruff, masculine voice, sat up suddenly. Halfway up, his forehead came into abrupt contact with the metal ceiling, eliciting a loud _thunk!_ and a sharp "_Ow!_" from the young half-Saiyan. Still not completely awake, he struggled and rolled, falling out of the bunk and landing instinctively in a crouch on the floor. Blue eyes wide and blinking rapidly, he focused on the bemused figure standing over him, trying to pull his thoughts together. Who was this, and where was he? Why was he sleeping in such a place? 

"You awake yet, Karaikoro?" the figure said again. 

_Karaikoro...that's me. Right...the pirate ship._ Trunks drew himself to his feet, a bit unsteadily. "Kalifer? What's going on?" 

"It's your friendly wake-up call, that's what." Kalifer grabbed him roughly by the shoulder of his jacket and dragged him through the door. Once in the hallway, the bigger Saiyan shoved him ahead. "Get moving, squirt. It's breakfast time, and you're missing it." 

"Breakfast?" At the sound of the hallowed B-word, Trunks' stomach let go with a growl that would have shamed a lion on the Serengeti. Trunks himself was brought completely awake as well, and picked up his pace considerably. 

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't want to miss it, since you were so hungry last night," Kalifer responded as they hustled. "I could have just gone myself, you know, and left you snoring." 

"I don't snore!" Trunks shot back. "Anyway...thanks." 

Kalifer grunted, obviously not used to gratitude. "Hurry up then. There won't be any left, and Urun will make us wash the dishes!" 

"But...what about...washing up or...?" 

Kalifer snorted. "Don't bother. You look like you just climbed out of bed, but nobody's going to care." 

"Ack!" Trunks tried to smooth his rumpled hair as they hurried, wishing he had access to even the cramped little washroom on his own ship. He imagined he must look a sight, not having bathed in several days and his hair probably a mess on top of that. But some of the other crewers he'd seen last night looked as though they didn't even know what soap _was_, let alone used it in the past few weeks. Perhaps Kalifer was right; maybe these pirates wouldn't even notice. 

They pelted into the galley, diving into the noise and clatter of the ship's eating area. Everyone seemed a bit more cheerful in the morning, well-rested, instead of grumpy and sullen from a long day's work. Some of the diners actually waved at Kalifer, but Trunks was curious as to why the Saiyan ignored them--until one of the wavers spoke up. 

"Hey, monkey-boy--still babysitting that purple twerp?" a finny-looking alien gurgled mockingly. 

A heavyset apelike being near him guffawed loudly, and several of the others at that table spoke up with some jibes that made Trunks scowl darkly. Some of the surrounding tables jeered at them as well, but Kalifer strode past them without a twitch. Trunks followed him, startled that he, a Saiyan, had not retaliated to the other crewers' insults. 

"Someone ought to set those idiots straight," Trunks growled as he and his companion stepped into line. "You aren't my boss--or my babysitter." 

"Let it slide, squirt." Kalifer's low, gritted voice startled him. 

"What?" Trunks took a closer look at him; Kalifer's tail was bristled where it wrapped around his waist, and his eyes were dark and hard. 

"It isn't worth it," the Saiyan explained, obviously working to contain his temper. "There would just be a fight, and Carro would come down here and beat the hell out of me, and I'd get sent off to work without any food." 

Trunks gaped at him for a second. "But...they..." 

"Just ignore them," Kalifer snarled, then snatched a bowl and turned away from him. 

Trunks had been none-too-pleased with some of the insults he'd heard from the tables they'd passed. Monkey, moon-freak, savage, rat-tail, stupid beast--and those were some of the milder ones. _It could have been me,_ he realized uncomfortably. _I can hardly believe they hate Saiyans that much. If they knew what I really am...they would be calling **me** those things as well._ His lip lifted, almost a snarl, as the crewers' mocking voices rang repeatedly through his mind. Those jeers bit deep, even if they had not been directed at him; he was Saiyan as well, and while he only understood a little of what it truly meant, he still felt a shadow of Kalifer's anger and shame. _I am **not** a monkey!_

Still stewing in his dark thoughts, he stood behind Kalifer in line and waited to be served the pale, mushy porridge that was apparently their breakfast. It was grainy and slightly bluish, but didn't smell too unsavory. And with the way his stomach complained, any food would be very welcome. "Oh, yummy," he commented lightly as they left the line, bowls full. "Blue snot." 

Kalifer actually gave a snort of laughter, his face lifting a touch. "Heh. Good one." 

Crossing to the next counter, they fetched their silverware and drinks. Trunks had to set down his bowl to fill his cup; this time, Urun had seen fit to supply a juice that was moderately tolerable and tasted a little like apple-orange. Trunks had to gape as Kalifer gave him a remarkable display of the prehensile abilities of a Saiyan tail; the bigger youth cradled his breakfast in his left hand, turned the juice spigot with his right, and held his cup in a loop of his tail. 

"Look Ma, no hands," Kalifer said with a grin. 

"That's an interesting trick," Trunks responded, eyebrows high in amazement. 

Kalifer gave him a very Saiyan smirk as he transferred his beverage to his free hand. "Don't you wish you had one?" 

Trunks swallowed, faked a laugh, and declined to comment as he followed Kalifer to a table. 

* * * * * 

Trunks somehow managed to survive the days of tense nothingness. Breakfast seemed to take place at the shipboard equivalent of five or six in the morning. Afterwards, Kalifer dropped him off at Engineering and then bolted for his own station, hurrying off before he was further abused for any tardiness. The Saiyan was on-duty in shifts of four and five hours, while Trunks had to work two seven-hour shifts with only an hour break in between. Dinner, as far as Trunks could figure, happened at approximately nine at night, and afterwards the two Saiyans would be quite tired, usually going directly to bed. While Trunks and Kalifer slept, a smaller portion of the crew kept up a graveyard watch. 

Nuriz worked Trunks steadily, yet never for a moment took his yellow reptillian eyes off of the half-Saiyan; the Chief Engineer did not trust him at all yet. Trunks attempted to learn some kind of work skill for the Engineering section, but with the way Nuriz restricted him it was nearly impossible to do anything without the Chief's permission. His main job ended up being a sort of monitor, keeping track of guages, dials, and readouts; he wasn't allowed to do anything major that might affect the ship's functions. 

Once Nuriz discovered that Trunks was a bit stronger than he looked, the reptillian engineer put him to work as a go-fer; he would fetch fuel cells from their storage compartments aft whenever it was needed, carry heavy components necessary for repairs, or open and close engine valves under Nuriz's instruction. The Chief Engineer was a brusque sort, sharp-tongued but a tolearable taskmaster. Trunks disliked his harsh impatience but gained some respect for his vast knowledge of mechanics and spaceships' functions. However, he was always glad when his long shifts were over. 

Trunks' off-duty time was spent trying to stay out of the other crewmates' way. During mealtimes, which were only twice a day and quite meager for a Saiyan's dietary needs, Kalifer stayed close to him and helped him--though not overtly--learn the social etiquette of shipboard life. It wasn't easy; because of his small stature he was perceived as an easy target by most of the crew. The evening of his first full day aboard, an ugly fellow named Jaketi--a wolflike alien with green-blue-gray mottled fur and a bad temper, who also happened to be Chief of Security--had somehow taken offense at him while waiting in line at the kitchen. The big brute had savagely knocked him across the galley to slam into and dent the far wall. 

This hadn't hurt much at all, although the alien's sharp claws had torn four parallel gashes through his favorite Capsule Corp jacket and drawn blood on his shoulder; he had been lax in keeping up his ki-shield, given his constant hunger and fatigue. But with all eyes on him, he swallowed his pride and pretended he _was_ hurt, lying there and gasping like a beached fish, keeping a careful ruse of being weaker than the other members of the crew. The last thing he needed was for Carro to perceive him as a threat and pop him out an airlock. It was hard enough keeping his power constantly supressed so as not to trigger anyone's scouters; most of the crew considered him "below three hundred," whatever that meant. He didn't hold his power down as low as he normally did; he wanted to appear nonthreatening, not as a weakling. 

Only Kalifer was anything like a friend to him, treating him with a gruff tolerance reminiscent of Vegeta and probably typical of whatever friendship Saiyans could show in public--though Trunks didn't really know why the big Saiyan seemed to like him. But Kalifer saw to it that his arm was bandaged after Jaketi's claws did their work. 

The First Mate, the ram-horned Taliquin, treated him with polite indifference, like he was just another crewer, and Trunks appreciated his stern, firm manner and fair ways. He was not cruel or impatient with those who worked under him; he seemed intelligent and somber, and his presence seemed to moderate Carro's temper somewhat. 

There was also a red-scaled, lizardlike alien with a physique like a bull named Hash. Trunks had been taken by Kalifer down to the cargo bay where Hash worked, and shown how the heavy cargo cranes and loader operated. Hash had taken an immediate liking to him, offering to show him around the whole department. The big Dargun did not have a tremendous IQ but he had a large and friendly heart. He was by far the largest of the crew, and Trunks wondered how such a gentle giant fell in with a band of such ruthless pirates. Hash treated him with a kind of rough affection he'd never seen from such a monstrous-looking creature, mussing his hair with a horny paw whenever he came down to visit. 

Hash was also the one in charge of keeping an eye on Trunks' wrecked ship, which sat in the corner of the ventral storage bay. When Trunks had asked to investigate it, Hash told him apologetically that he wasn't allowed to touch it--Captain's orders--and Trunks didn't want to get the big alien in trouble. Hash was the one--with Kalifer's help--who described to Trunks the dimensions of their vessel, its cargo capacity, its weapons payload, its smuggling capability, the distance it could travel and how fast it could go. It turned out that the _Wyrkel's Fire_ was a decently-sized freighter. Fully loaded, she could travel incredible distances even when filled with tons of cargo. She carried enough firepower to level a moderately-sized city. She had two small dorsal bays with cloaking capability for larger smuggling loads, and many hidden hatches and panels for smaller jobs. Boosted engines and a better fuel converter gave her twice the speed of a normal ship of that class--well beyond anything in legal limits. 

The little lizard/bug/bat creature, Spit, also made himself well-known. Trunks would often spot him clinging to a wall or ceiling out of the corner of his eye, or see him scuttling off down the corridor when he came out of his quarters. He had few doubts that the creepy little alien was spying on him, at least part of the time, so he watched ever more carefully what he said and did. However, the gossip chain aboard the ship was fast and large, and Spit appeared to have caught wind of a few of Trunks and Kalifer's conversations; several crewers poked fun at him for being such a pal with a Saiyan. To make matters worse, Captain Carro went out of his way to dare him into any kind of defiance, obviously trying to egg the youth into a fight. Trunks would grit his teeth and ignore the Captain's prodding. 

As the days passed with no break in the grim routine, Trunks became increasingly tired, hungry, and frustrated. He withdrew into himself, becoming a silent, purple-haired shadow; he rarely spoke, even to Kalifer or Hash, and spent most of his off-duty time in his quarters. He functioned on auto-pilot, stumbling through his duties in Engineering. He did not avail himself of the ship's bathing facilities, which were a bit unsanitary, very public, and usually in use by several crewers at any given time. His clothes had not been washed--the ship's facilities for that were less than satisfactory as well--and he rarely bothered to change them anyway; he got up, made it through the day, then fell into bed when it was over, only to rise and repeat the sequence over again. He was depressed and miserable, and even a thick-headed Saiyan like Kalifer could see it. 

Finally, after Trunks had spent a week aboard the freighter, Kalifer cornered him in their quarters one evening and practically pinned him to the just-closed door. 

"Alright, Karaikoro, that's enough." 

"Enough what? Move, Kal, I'm going to bed." Trunks tried to push past him, but the bigger Saiyan didn't move, blocking the narrow space with his broad shoulders. 

"What's wrong with you?" Kalifer demanded. "You're a mess, and you never talk any more! What happened to that spunky runt that came in off a derelict pile of junk a week ago?" 

Trunks sighed in irritation. "He's dead. Happy? Now get out of my way." 

Kalifer scowled. "There's something wrong with you, squirt. You used to have spark to burn, but now you're dead as a rock. Are you telling me you gave up already?" 

"Gave up?" Trunks glared at him. "What are you talking about?" 

"You gave up. Quit. Rolled over. Went under. Lost the fight." Kalifer gazed at him. "I thought there was more to you, squirt. Or are you really the weak little runt that Carro thinks you are?" 

"Get...out...of...my...way," Trunks bit out, eyes narrowing. "I'm tired and you're pissing me off. Bad idea, Kal." 

Kalifer turned up his nose, snorting contemptuously. "Feh. So Carro _has_ beaten you. Figured he would--I knew a soft little brat like you wouldn't last long on this boat. The Captain's broken you, and he'll own you from now on. It's funny, I've seen it happen so many times--you're just like all the rest--" 

Trunks snapped. 

"_Shut up!_" His bottled-up anger came out in a rush, and he shoved Kaliffer violently backwards. The Saiyan slammed into the far wall with an impact that echoed through the nearby bulkheads as Trunks snarled in frustration, his aura flashing visibly around him. "You don't know _anything_, Kalifer! My life was already bad enough before I ended up here! Now I'm stuck on this hell-cursed rust-bucket and I can't get off! I'm tired of working for these bastards, I'm tired of being worn to the bone, I'm tired of being hungry all the time, and I haven't been able to train in _weeks!_ I want to go home--I'm _sick_ of this crap!" 

He didn't even flinch when his fist slammed into the closet door beside him, crumpling the metal. His ki was flowing hotly, flaring around him, and he came very, very close to exploding violently right then and there. 

Then he noticed that Kalifer was smiling at him. No, not just smiling--the big Saiyan was _laughing_ at him. "What...the _hell_..._?_" he gritted out, momentarily confused. 

"Heh, I knew you still had it in you," Kalifer chuckled, still leaning against the wall where he'd been thrown. 

"What?" Trunks glared at him. 

"You're stronger than this, Karaikoro," Kalifer replied gruffly. "You know, I was like you once. I came close to letting Carro beat me. But he hasn't--I'm still strong. I've been on this tub for years, and I've stood up to all of it. I think you can too." 

Trunks' aura flickered away as he stared at the Saiyan in confusion. It was beginning to sink in that Kalifer had not been serious with his jibes, but had meant instead to prod him out of his depression. Amazingly enough, the Saiyan was actually _concerned_ about him, though his way of showing it was odd. "But...how...?" 

Kalifer shook his head. "Carro wears you down and then he breaks you. When that happens, you bend to his every whim. It's happened to so many others on this boat. I've seen it way too often." He stood up straighter. "But I'm Saiyan, and I'm proud of it. I refuse to bow to that overblown tub of lard. If I hadn't, where would you be now?" 

Trunks blinked. "Still sitting in my escape pod..." 

"Yeah, that's right--a purple icicle." Trunks glared at him again, but Kalifer waved him off. "It's nice to see your fire hasn't gone out, Karaikoro. You've still got some fight left. And on this ship, you'll need it. You're no Saiyan, but if you can throw me like you did, you're tougher than you look. If you pull yourself together you can stand up to anything Carro does to you." 

Trunks gazed at him, mildly astonished at the unusually soft way Kalifer was speaking to him. Ashamed of his hot-tempered outburst at the one person who was the closest thing to a friend he had right then, he looked down at his feet and slumped against the door. Kalifer was truly trying to help him, and he'd burst out at the Saiyan in a fit of childish rage. "I...I'm sorry I..." 

"Feh...shut up." Kalifer shrugged, his voice growing a touch gruffer. "Carro's done worse without even trying. You didn't rattle me a bit." 

Deflated, Trunks sat down on Kalifer's bunk, still staring at the floor. "I hate this ship," he confessed softly. 

Kalifer folded his arms and shrugged again. "So do I, _karaikoro-sonjuka_. I'd give anything to be free of Carro. But I have no place to go, and this galaxy hates the Saiyan race with a passion. It's not all that great, but I can _live_ here. I'm more stuck than you are--if you do escape, you might be able to bum a ride home. But...I have no home to go to. Not any more." 

Hearing this, Trunks' heart wrung in pity. _Is this how my father felt when Freeza destroyed Planet Vegeta? Did he go and work for Freeza because...he had nowhere else to go? The galaxy hates Saiyans, and the survivors were all alone... Maybe Father went to Freeza because he could **live** there, even if it was awful. Because he had no home any more..._

Upon coming to that realization, Trunks' head jerked up. "Will you come with me?" he asked suddenly, the words bursting out of him like his aura had before--quickly, loudly, without thought. 

Kalifer looked at him in surprise. "Come where?" 

Trunks stood, though he _still_ had to look _up_ into Kalifer's eyes. "When I get off this ship, will you come with me? You could come live on my planet, with me and my mother..." He slowed down a bit, seeing the skepticism in Kalifer's eyes. "It would be okay! Most of the people don't even know what a Saiyan is. You already said that my kind looks enough like a Saiyan--if you kept your tail hidden no one would ever know. My mother would let you stay with us as long as you want. You'd be welcome with us!" 

For a few moments, behind the Saiyan disdain, there was a look of deep longing, of terrible loneliness, in Kalifer's dark eyes. His mouth turned from a smirk to a frown. "Sounds...too good to be true." 

"My home planet _is_ a good place," Trunks continued, a little softer. "My mother knows about Saiyans--she wouldn't mind you at all. My trainer's father was one of her best friends growing up. She even--" He cut himself off quickly. _--even fell in love and had a child with a Saiyan._ Realizing what he'd been about to say, that he'd come far too close to revealing his ancestry, he looked down again. "She wouldn't turn you away. She's very kind." 

Kalifer gazed at the smaller youth for a time, brows low, his eyes intense. "Maybe," he conceded after a few moments. "Maybe I will." 

Trunks let a small smile slip through his defenses. "Think about it. I want to get off this barge soon, and when I do I'll want to know if you're coming or not." 

Kalifer gave him a wry look. "No guerantees there, squirt. You'll be lucky if you escape Carro that easily. But if you _did_ manage to skip off _and_ get home, that would be something to see." 

_You have no idea,_ Trunks thought, but outwardly he only shrugged. "Anything's worth trying." 

"That's the spirit," Kalifer said with a grin. "Tell you what, Karaikoro--if you manage to come up with a way to escape from Carro successfully, I'll be glad to come with you." 

"I'll let you know as soon as I think of something," Trunks responded with an equal grin. _"Think of something" my foot. All I have to do is wait 'til we land on a planet, get my ship, and blast my way free. No sweat. Won't the Captain be surprised..._

"You'll have to fix the door you busted, squirt," Kalifer informed him. "Now move your scrawny butt. I'm going to bed." 

Trunks blinked, then stepped aside. "I guess...good night, then," he muttered, thrown as always by the Saiyan's rapid changes of tone and subject. 

"Speaking of cutting loose," Kalifer mentioned after the lights were down and the two were safely ensconced in their bunks, "we're coming into port tomorrow." 

"_Wha--?_" _Thunk!_ "_Ow!_ Dammit..." 

"You'd think a guy would learn by now," Kalifer drawled in the dark, amused. 

"Aw, shut up." Trunks, flat on his back on his bunk again, rubbed his forehead. He was _not_ used to sleeping on a bunk, even after a week, and in the dark he had a definite tendency to forget the ceiling was there. This was the fourth time he'd whacked his head on the metal; there was probably a dent in the bulkhead by now. "We're coming into port?" 

"Yeah. Little planet called Arinto. Been there a couple of times. Kinda backwater, but they've got some good spicy barbecue..." 

The mention of food other than the usual shipboard slop caused Trunks' mouth to water. "You mean...they'll actually let us leave the ship?" 

"Hell yeah. I don't know about you, but we've been in space for a month now, and we're all due for some shore leave." Trunks could almost hear the smirk in Kal's voice. "Once the work's done, the crew's gonna take off like _kibu_ abandoning a sinking boat. I've got some decas saved up; I'll show you around a bit, see if we can't find a decent bite to eat or maybe a good ol'-fashioned brawl with no Carro to get in my way..." 

_He's sure spoiling for a fight,_ Trunks thought with a smirk of his own. _Well, he **is** a Saiyan..._ "I'll be glad just to see the sky again. Any sky," he confessed. "And breathe real air." 

Kalifer snorted. "Sentimental mush." 

"Say what you like, but ship life sucks." 

"You're right. So shut up and sleep--tomorrow will get here quicker." 

Below him, the Saiyan rolled over and went right to sleep, but Trunks remained alert for a good while. Air, sky, light, freedom...the memories that washed over him--visions of his own beautiful, if scarred, homeworld--caused his heart to tighten with homesickness. The prospect of walking on soil, of breathing fresh air, of seeing sunlight once again--it seemed too good to be true. He couldn't wait for their arrival! 

Despite his efforts, Trunks lay awake in almost childish excitement for quite some time. 

  
_To be continued..._


	7. Spacer's Scrub

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

  
**Chapter 7: Spacer's Scrub**

The crew of the _Wyrkel's Fire_ was in an excited buzz the next morning over breakfast, especially after the announcement over the ship's intercomm. They would be arriving on Arinto at approximately oh-nine-hundred hours ship time, and everyone had better have their work done by then or shore leave was out. Trunks and Kalifer gave each other eager grins as they went their separate ways to report to their respective stations. 

The landing went so smoothly that Trunks didn't even notice that they had stopped moving; he discovered the fact of their arrival when Nuriz ordered the engines put on standby and all Engineering personnel to report to Cargo for temporary reassignment. Apparently, Engineering was volunteered to help with the ship's load, as well as crewers from several other departments that were not essential while planetside. 

According to Nuriz, Arinto was a little planet not very near any major dominions, but with enough connections to have several well-off spaceport-cities. It was a backwater little world with a small, strong commercial trade in several minerals and valuable fabrics, and while it was small, the spaceport-cities could be rather rough places, just like any seaport. 

Trunks found Kalifer among the crewers redirected to Cargo. He followed his friend down to the bays, where the Cargo personnel were already at work, and the huge, broad ramps were already lowered. As the workers filed into the bay, Trunks bounded ahead, down the ramp, his feet almost touching the sun-baked concrete of the large, lowered landing pad. 

From what he could see from lowered cargo ramp, the planet they'd landed on was teeming with citizenry and quite hot. The air was dry and warm, but he welcomed the heated breeze that ruffled his violet hair. After so long aboard ship, the bright desert sun nearly blinded him even though he stood in the shade of the massive freighter's underbelly, and his eyes took a few moments to adjust. The spaceport itself was quite busy, the loud noises of men and machinery, of vehicles and ships' engines filling the air. The city beyond, the taller buildings barely visible over the rim of the spaceport landing pit, beckoned him with sounds and smells and promises of adventure-- 

"Get your butt to work, Runt!" shouted Captain Carro from the top of the ramp, his voice impatient and commanding. "We don't sightsee, we unload! Move it!" 

Gritting his teeth, Trunks broke off his eager perusal of the sights and stalked back up the ramp into the bay, heading for Kalifer. He passed Carro without looking at him, struggling to hold his temper. "What do I do?" he asked when he reached Kalifer's side. 

The Saiyan grunted as he struggled to lift a huge barrel-like container. "You carry. The loader can't handle everything. Only the ton-weight packages can fit the clamp. These stupid barrels don't." 

Just then, Hash drove by in the loader--a heavy machine that vaguely resembled a giant forklift with a large steel clamp in place of the tines. The big lizard waved at them, his yellow eyes twinkling merrily. Other crewers set about with flat carts and wheeled dollys, loading smaller boxes and crates aboard them and taking them down the ramp. 

"Whew, it's hot here!" Trunks wiped a growing trickle of sweat from his brow. Sun-baked air from the planet's atmosphere blew into the bay from the open ramp, rapidly heating the metal interior. Watching Kalifer struggle with the big, unwieldy barrel, he cleared his throat. "Just how heavy are those things?" he asked, eyeing the next one on the stack. 

"'Bout a ton, 1-G equivalent," the Saiyan growled. "Don't bother--go help the others with the little crates. You probably can't--can't--uh..." 

Kalifer nearly dropped his own load in shock when Trunks, with a grunt, hoisted one of the huge barrels over his shoulder and turned to look at the bigger Saiyan, neatly balancing his load. "Where do I put it?" 

Kalifer stared at him incredulously a moment longer. "Just...follow me." He strode down the loading ramp and placed his burden on the flatbed hovertruck that waited for them. Trunks did the same, earning a lot of surprised gazes. Crewers all around dropped their loads in surprise, staring in shock at the small violet-haired youth that could lift the massive containers almost more easily than the Saiyan could. Trunks grinned as he caught some of their startled murmurs, listening to them marvel amongst themselves. _Yeah, that's right,_ he thought, almost contemptuously. _The little runt can handle the loads you can't. Take a good look, you jerks._

"How'd you...?" Kalifer started, his voice a bit hoarse. 

Trunks shrugged, turning back to him. "I told you--size doesn't count for much where I come from." 

"Apparently. Could everyone on your planet do that?" 

"No, just the--uh, Saiyans, and a couple of their friends." 

"Hm." Kalifer gazed at him for a while. "Well, back to work, Karaikoro. We've got a lot of weight to haul, and it looks like we're the ones who have to do it. Heh. I'm actually glad you can lift these; it'll be nice to have some help for once." 

Trunks wiped his face on his sleeve once again. It was uncomfortably hot on this planet! Back at the barrel stacks, Trunks took off his Capsule Corp jacket, leaving only the black tank-top he usually wore underneath. He dropped his jacket beside the barrel stack and prepared to hoist another. 

For the first time, Kalifer got a good look at his smaller companion's compact, muscular physique. He was not tall by most standards, nor was he particularly large or brawny, but his muscles were well-developed, perfectly proportioned, and hard as steel. Kalifer was enough of a fighter to know how to guage the person he was looking at, and he knew that there was far more to this youth than met the eye. Despite the young man's small size, his sturdy, muscled frame warned of stone-crushing strength concealed just beneath the surface, and the balanced poise in the way he moved told of hidden skill and fighting prowess. Kalifer wondered again what race Karaikoro came from, and how that race had managed to produce a specimen like him, who was comparable to a Saiyan in both appearance and power. 

"Why doesn't anyone else help with these?" Trunks asked, seeing Kalifer's contemplative look as they headed down the ramp once more. 

"Hash is driving the loader, Taliquin's busy, and the captain doesn't feel like lifting," Kalifer growled. "Everyone else can't haul these things, so they see to the rest of the junk." 

"You mean...you're stronger than everyone else on the ship?" The half-Saiyan almost couldn't believe his ears. 

"Except the captain and Taliquin and maybe Hash, yeah." 

"Then why do you let everyone push you around like that?" 

Kalifer glanced at him shrewdly. "Same reason you do, I guess." 

Trunks set his barrel on the flatbed. "So you're on to me, then." 

"Karaikoro, I was on to you when you blew me over your first day aboard. There's more to you than everyone else thinks. And I bet _they're_ starting to get the idea too." He jerked his head at the other crewers still lifting their piddly little crates onto the carts, glancing over their shoulders at the two Saiyans. 

Trunks fidgeted nervously under his companion's steely gaze for a moment, then turned and scuttled back up the ramp for another load. Kalifer followed him after another few seconds. 

* * * * * 

Unloading the cargo and locking down the freighter took two more hours. By that time, Trunks was quite impatient and very tired of waiting for the captain to give the all-clear. Once Cargo declared that all their deliveries had been offloaded and Security reported no problems, the captain's voice came over the intercomm, declaring shore leave for all but essential personnel. 

After the cargo had been unloaded, the two Saiyans had gone back to their quarters, where Kalifer instructed Trunks to gather all his clothes into the case he'd brought them in, and pack along his toiletries as well. The full-Saiyan did the same, clearing out his closet and stuffing his garments into a battered duffel. When Trunks asked the purpose of this activity, Kalifer explained that the first thing they were going to do was find a Scrub. 

"What's a Scrub?" Trunks asked as the two pelted down the corridor after Carro's terse announcement. 

Kalifer smirked at him. "You'll see." 

At the ship's main hatch, crewers were lined up to receive their stipends and report their names for the list of those out on leave. The bored, harried officer taking names and handing out money merely wrote down the names given him and slapped a handful of what appeared to be cash into the two Saiyans' hands. "Be back by twenty-one hundred hours," he warned Kalifer tersely. 

"No problem." With that, the Saiyan grabbed Trunks by the sleeve and hauled him down the gangplank ramp. "Hey, squirt, we're free for the night!" 

Trunks stumbled down the bottom of the ramp, catching his balance after Kal's rough handling. "All right!" he exclaimed, clutching his case of clothes and the handful of currency. "Uh...now what?" 

"Now you follow me." Kalifer turned, then paused, looking over his shoulder. "You _can_ fly, can't you?" 

Trunks blinked at him, taken aback. "Of course!" 

The Saiyan grinned. "Great. It's faster this way." 

Cutting through the milling throng of crewers scattering out of the landing area, Kalifer cleared the crowd and took to the air. Trunks followed easily, relishing the chance to release his ki. He hadn't flown in weeks! The late afternoon sun was scorchingly bright, and the air was hot as an oven, but the wind felt good whipping through his hair. 

"Hey, settle down, Karaikoro!" Kalifer called after him with a short laugh. "Don't get too excited. Keep your speed low, squirt, there's air traffic over this city." 

Not wanting to end up in a mid-air collision with someone's skycar, Trunks finished a barrel roll and pulled in beside Kal. "So where are we going?" he asked as they approached the denser portion of the city. 

"First things first," Kalifer replied, beginning a lazy stoop that carried him down to street level. Trunks close behind, he pulled in to land on a sidewalk corner, amid the bustling crowds of natives. 

Landing lightly on the sandstone pavement, Trunks found himself in a run-down part of the city that was almost like a teeming shop area in Mexico back home. The streets were narrow and crowded with carts and vehicles, while market stalls jammed the available sidewalk area. Behind the stalls, shop-buildings rose rickety and sun-baked high above, shading most of the street in their shadows. There were people of all sorts walking the streets; the most common type appeared to be some brown-scaled lizard people, apparently the natives to the planet. Voices of hawkers, shopkeepers, customers, and other travelers raised into a babbling cacophony of several languages, and above them periodically rang the sharp sound of car horns as irate drivers honked at slow-moving animal-drawn carts. 

"Holy cow..." Trunks breathed, staying close to Kalifer lest he lose him in the crowd. 

Kalifer didn't respond, but instead began moving through the throng. Trunks followed close, taking advantage of the "slipstream" created by the big Saiyan's broad shoulders. Kal was large and intimidating enough that most people cleared out of his way without a fuss, whether or not they noticed the tail at his waist. Due to the lack of reaction, Trunks speculated that they didn't. 

"We've each got thirty decas to spend," Kalifer explained over his shoulder as they pushed through the crowd. "And I've got fifty more saved up. I think between us we can afford to have a good time tonight!" 

Trunks looked down at the bills in his hand; the almost plastic-like paper was marked with red and blue ink, bearing symbols both foreign and familiar. At least one of them had a recognizable symbol for "10" on it, and several others had "5" emblazoned on them. "So this is your money?" 

Kalifer snorted. "Since the Cold Empire fell, this is the closest thing to a galactically recognized currency we've got. Some places still don't take it, but we do what we can." 

"I see..." 

They went on in silence for a while, and the first thing Kalifer did was stop at a couple of the market stalls along the road, the ones offering clothing. The vendors happily displayed their wares, showing off various outlandish outifits, but Kalifer shook his head and shoved Trunks in the shoulder. 

"Hey, pick something. You'll need a fresh change of clothes where we're going." 

Trunks gaped at him. "But...I've already got...!" 

Kalifer glared. "Your clothes are going to be washed, and unless you want to stand about naked, buy something." 

"Is _that_ what a Scrub is?" Trunks asked, hesitantly stepping foward to peruse the selection, looking for something that might fit him in both size and shape. 

"Sort of. Hurry up." Kalifer crossed his arms and stood back, waiting. He seemed a little edgy, his eyes darting back and forth as if nervous about something. 

Watching his companion out of the corner of his eye, Trunks carefully selected a dark gray pair of pants and a black shirt, both of which bore a passing resemblance to his present garb. The pants were more denim-like, and a bit tighter, while the shirt was long-sleeved, loose and flowing, and made of a light material almost like silk, but it stretched. "Good enough?" he asked. 

"Whatever." Kalifer turned to the shopkeeper and spoke to him, haltingly, in a language that Trunks didn't even begin to recognize. "You've got expensive taste. That's a nineteen-deca ensemble you've picked there, squirt." 

"Nineteen?" Hesitantly, the half-Saiyan pulled out what he hoped was the correct number of bills, looking to Kalifer for confirmation. After receiving his change, the bigger Saiyan grabbed him by the arm again and dragged him off impatiently. 

"You take forever to decide the simplest things," he grumbled, pulling the smaller youth after him. "You obsess over having juice or water every single morning--and you can't even grab a damn set of clothes without making a big deal of it." 

"Lay off, all right?" Trunks snapped back, jerking himself free of Kal's grip to walk on his own. "I don't want to walk around looking like a buffoon." 

"You already do, purple-hair," Kal muttered, stopping at the next street corner. "Damn, this place has changed a lot in four years..." 

"Why don't you just ask for directions?" 

Kalifer glared at him, and Trunks remembered that the concept of "ask" was not often found in a Saiyan's thought processes. However, the bigger youth rolled his eyes and turned to a passing lizard-being. "'Scuse me," he said gruffly. "Can you tell me where the nearest Scrub is?" 

The lizard-man paused and blinked at him. 

Kalifer sighed. "_Vrei ik'laran?_" 

The native blinked again. "_Awamu shahuram?_" 

"Crap..." Kalifer gritted his teeth. "He doesn't know Spachink." 

Trunks' eyebrows went up. "Just how many languages do you know, anyway?" 

"Just a bunch of trade planet tongues, and some spacers' pigdin." Kalifer concentrated, thinking. "Uh... _Pi-ku mati...tin ka-yo?_" 

The lizard's beak split into a smile. "_Umu! Unn... Mati...trika-kin...pu-ka._" One scaly hand pointed down the way and across the street. 

Kalifer looked immensely relieved. "_Yo-ku._" 

As the lizard-man went on his way, Trunks trotted after Kalifer, alight with curiosity. "What was that?" he all but demanded. "I thought you said he didn't know...whatever that was." 

"He didn't know Spachink--that's the local spacer's pigdin in this region of space. The merchant knew it." Kalifer followed the native's directions, crossing the busy street and pushing his way down the other sidewalk. "But he did know some Karamati, probably more than I do." 

"When do we eat?" Trunks asked when Kal finished speaking. "I'm starved." 

"Soon enough. Well, what do you know! I _did_ ask the right thing. The Scrub's right here." Kalifer gestured to the flaking old building with a sign painted in bright red letters in some unknown tongue. However, when they stopped before the door, Trunks noted a smaller sign nailed to the peeling wood which read, "Wash-house, low price services," in twisted but recognizable Standard letters. Kalifer pushed open the door, and Trunks followed him into the darker interior. 

Inside, the room was well-lit and smelled of soap. There was a lizard native working the counter, while across the room were several banks of what appeared to be washing machines. "This place..." Trunks glanced around at the folk sitting in chairs waiting. "This is a _laundromat?_" he demanded incredulously. 

Kalifer snorted, heading for the counter. "Feh! It's more than that, stupid. Shut up and pay attention." He banged on the counter, getting the clerk's attention. "Please tell me you speak Standard, lady." 

"Shtandard I shpeak fine, shir," the lizard-woman replied, a bit miffed, with a slight lisp through her reptillian tongue. "You wish sherfishes?" 

"That's right. Two sets of clothes, two wash-ups." 

"Currenshy?" 

"You folks still take decas in these parts?" 

"Two each for laundry. Fife each for wash-up, double if sheparate." 

"Great." Kalifer glanced over his shoulder. "Pay the lady for your share, Karaikoro." 

After the correct amount of cash was handed over, the lizard woman presented them each with a small key, which presumably gave them access to one of the washing machines, and handed Kalifer a larger key with a number card attached to it. "Pleash leaf no mesh in the room." 

"We'll be tidy," Kalifer replied. "Come on, squirt, let's go." 

They went through the door in the rear of the room, carrying their belongings with them. A double hallway waited in back, rather narrow, but Kalifer led the way and stopped at the room which matched the number on the key they'd been given. Inside, the floor was made of tile in quaint but unimaginitive colors. There was a counter with several sinks and mirrors, a long plank bench across from it, and at the back of the room was an area tiled on all three walls with a rim around the floor. Several shower heads pointed down from water pipes leading along the wall. 

"This is it?" Trunks asked softly. 

"One of the nicer places I've been in, actually," Kalifer said, looking pleased. "Look here--fresh soap and towels and everything. Definitely worth five decas." 

Trunks looked about hesitantly. The washroom seemed sanitary enough. There were no unpleasant smells and it appeared to have been cleaned recently. There was a large stack of white towels and a small dish that contained what looked laughably similar to little individually-wrapped bars of hotel soap. There were even little squeeze bags of shampoo for their free use. 

"Let's get cleaned up, squirt!" Kalifer announced, cuffing him in the shoulder. "This is what's known as a Spacer's Scrub--the best place to get washed up, usually a whole hell of a lot better than a gray-water dry shower shipboard. Use it while you can!" With that, the bigger Saiyan unceremoniously began stripping out of his smudged coveralls and underclothes. Tail lashing at the thought of a fresh shower, he snatched a large towel, a washcloth, a handful of soaps and shampoos, and strode to the shower area, completely unashamed. 

Trunks hesitated, a little embarassed; he'd never liked public showers, not even at home. The few times he had shared a washroom with others, his physical differences had earned him odd looks and made him self-conscious about his Saiyan heritage. 

"Come on, Karaikoro, we haven't got all day," Kalifer called from the showers, turning up one of the spigots. "We're going to eat right after this, and I don't want to smell you during my first good meal in a month!" 

The thought of good food in the near future finally prodded Trunks into action. Turning away, he reluctantly stripped down and grabbed some supplies and a towel, heading into the shower area after his friend. He was forced to leave the towel on the wall hook, however, or risk getting it soaked in the shower. So he steeled himself, strode furtively up to a shower head, and cranked on the water. 

The shower was lukewarm, but at least the water was fresh. Trunks actually sighed, relieved at how good it felt to scrub down thoroughly. From what he'd seen in the washroom's mirrors, his hair was definitely in need of a good cleaning, and his arms and hands were smudged with grease and grime from working in Engineering. It felt so wonderful that he even forgot his impatient stomach for a while. 

Then he noticed Kalifer chuckling at him. "What?" he demanded crossly, still scrubbing his hair. 

"Oh, nothing." The Saiyan smirked. "Just noticed you're a natural purple." 

Trunks stared at him blankly for a moment before comprehension struck and his face flamed. "Shut up, jerk!" he snapped, turning away. "You've got a lot of room to talk! That tail makes _you_ a natural monkey!" 

"Hey, come on!" Kalifer flicked his tail, showering him with drops of shampoo from the damp fur. "Don't take it so personally, squirt. You can't help the color you were born with." 

Trunks gritted his teeth and scrubbed with a vengeance, ducking under the flow of water to rinse. "So leave me alone about it, alright?" he growled. "I get enough stares back home." 

Kalifer raised an eyebrow, still looking far too amused for Trunks' taste. "So purple isn't a common coloring where you come from?" 

"No, dammit. Now lay off." _Unless you want to see a **really** uncommon coloring,_ he mentally snarled. Slamming off the shower, he stomped over to the towel hook, hearing Kalifer finish washing behind him. He snatched one of the towels, not caring whether or not it was the one he brought, and secured it firmly about his waist, turning just in time to see the Saiyan shaking out his shaggy mane like a dog. 

Kalifer followed suit with the remaining towel, stepping out of the shower area alongside him. "Say, where'd you get a scar like that?" 

Grabbing a second towel to dry with, Trunks paused, looking at him in puzzlement. "Scar? I don't have any..." 

"On your backside." The Saiyan snorted. "Somebody shoot you?" 

For a few moments more, Trunks' face scrunched up, perplexed. _Scar...? What...?_ When realization finally came, his face went slack in half-panicked surprise. _Aw, crap! The **only** scar I got that never disappeared would just have to be **that!** The damn tail-scar on my butt! Oh, great, I hope he doesn't put it together...!_

"Uh, jeeze..." he stammered, trying to think fast. "I...I...you know, I don't even remember it..." _Well, at least that's the truth...mostly._

Kalifer shot him an odd look. "Seriously? Must have been one hell of a wound. I didn't see another mark on you. Unless you're not really a fighter and it was just an accident." 

Trying to divert the Saiyan's attention from the incriminating scar, Trunks quickly changed the subject as he finished drying and began to dress. "So, what kinds of foods do they serve here?" 

Kalifer dug fresh clothes out of his duffel bag. "Spicy ones," he replied shortly. "Whatever you do, don't eat the pickled vegetables. The things are hotter than a full ki blast." 

"I'll keep that in mind." Trunks finished dressing in his new ensemble, pleased that he didn't look like too much of "buffoon" when he checked himself in the mirror. In fact, the dark clothing made his paler complexion and striking violet hair stand out, and he actually cut a rather handsome figure. Glad that Kalifer had insisted he bring his bathroom supplies, he fished out his comb and toothbrush and headed to the sinks to get to work. 

Kalifer actually dressed in something other than ship's coveralls. Instead, he wore dark, loose pants and a blue mid-sleeved shirt. Once he was finished pulling on his clothes, he shook out his hair again. 

Trunks, finished with his hair and moved on to his teeth, held out his comb to his friend. "Need this?" 

"Naw, I don't usually bother," Kalifer replied, bringing out his own toothbrush. "You know a little about Saiyans, don't you? Comb or not, my hair'll never change." 

"I...I guess not." Trunks stared at the small object in Kalifer's hand, then suddenly smiled. Unable to hold back, he began to chuckle. 

"What's so funny now?" Kalifer demanded. 

Trunks held up his own recently-used tool. "I guess toothbrushes are pretty much the same no matter where you come from." 

One eyebrow raised, Kalifer looked from one toothbrush to the other for a moment before he broke out in a chuckle as well. Pretty soon, the two youths were laughing uproarously, unable to contain their mirth. The shared amusement broke what little tension remained between them, putting darker subjects far from their minds and allowing them to relax. Even if neither of them knew what was so humorous about the similarity of toothbrushes used in different galactic cultures. 

Outside, the clerk walking down the hall past the door with a fresh bundle of towels wondered what in the Nine Rings could be so funny about a simple washroom. 

  
_To be continued..._


	8. Dining Out

((Disclaimer: Trunks, Bulma, and all the other Dragonball characters are copyright of Akira Toriyama. I am not making any profit whatsoever and I'm not trying to rip anybody off; I'm just here for the fun of writing. The characters actually invented in this story are _mine_, so don't use them without my permission! Any similarities to actual events or persons is purely coincidental. Thank you, enjoy your reading.)) 

  


**Dragonball Galaxy**   
_by Becky Tailweaver_

  
**Chapter 8: Dining Out**

The stupid laundry took _forever_ to finish. By the time it was done, Trunks was practically jumping up and down with impatience--and his stomach was audibly growling, adding to his intense desire to devour something. He was _starving!_

He barely took the time to drag his belongings out of the washer/dryer machine and cram them into his case, without bothering to fold them. Kalifer, who was surprisingly the more patient of the two, watched with amusement as the smaller youth fought to get his case closed around the disorganized lump of clothing. 

When they finally returned their keys and left the Scrub, it was past sundown and the streets were clothed in shadows. Kalifer was holding back laughter as they headed down the sidewalk. The spectacle was rather amusing; whatever he was, Karaikoro certainly _looked_ like an antsy Saiyan--he was practically on tiptoe, almost dancing in impatience, teeth clenched and eyes flicking back and forth. Kalifer snorted; he'd better feed the runt before he went on a hunt of his own and ate one of the natives. 

And Kalifer knew just the spot. But only if it was still there... 

* * * * *

"Where are we going?" Trunks demanded for the umpteenth time, getting impatient with Kalifer's noncommittal answers. 

"You'll see," the big Saiyan repeated, earning a half-sigh, half-snarl of exasperation from his purple-haired companion. 

"I _wish_," Trunks growled, "that you would stop being so damned evasive and just _answer_ me." 

"And _I_ wish," Kalifer retorted with an equal growl, "that _you_ would stop being so all-fired anxious and just let me find the place." 

Trunks' face blanked in momentary surprise before he all but bared his teeth. "_What?_ You mean you don't know where we're going?" 

"I know where we're going. I just need to find out how to get there." 

"Oh for pity's sake..." Trunks pressed his palm to his forehead. "_Saiyans_..." 

"Watch it, pipsqueak," Kalifer snarled, rounding on him with a glare so intense that Trunks stopped in his tracks and actually took a step back, startled. 

"Hey, I didn't mean..." 

"Just stop it before you say something to make me flatten you." Kalifer waved him off and turned to start walking again. "We're both edgy 'cause we're hungry. So let's forget this and get some food in us." 

"So forget about that place and let's just hit the nearest restaraunt!" 

"I know we're almost there. If it's still there." 

"Kalifer...!" 

"Wait--wait a minute--hey, there's that knicknack dealer's place, Marishu-whatsisface..." Kalifer glanced up and down the darkened street, taking in the shops and signs like a kid coming home after a long absence. "There's the candy and liquor parlor...wow, it's still running...!" He grinned, glancing back at Trunks. "That place has got some neat stuff. And it's near the restaraunt I was telling you about." 

Trunks was at his side in an instant. "It is? Where?" 

"Let's see...just past it, I think--across the street from the little rat-infested hotel..." 

"That?" 

"Yup, there's the hotel--looks like they finally condemned the heap..." Kalifer stopped beneath a neon sign that looked a little worse for wear but still fritzingly shone out its message in some alien tongue. "And what do you know! Shanky's is still running!" 

Trunks whirled to stare at the restaraunt as if he'd been introduced to the gates of Heaven. "That's it?" It looked rather run-down on the outside; the windows were all shaded opaque and the only indication of habitation came from the buzzing neon sign above the door. 

"That's it, Karaikoro. Great food, and it's cheap, plus nobody asks questions." Kalifer led him toward the doors. "Just watch your step, squirt--this place could be a little rough." 

Trunks followed him, already picking up on the smells of food from within. "I'm ready for anything." 

The doors opened--and Trunks found himself amidst a tumult of alien chaos. 

The inside of Shanky's Bar 'n' Grill was much more upkept than the outside. The room was filled with noisy, upbeat music, which seemed tolerable if a bit...foreign. The lights were low and multicolored, with neon signs hanging on the walls along with pictures of what appeared to be alien celebrities and females of various species--not all of which seemed attractive. Cloying smoke from cigarrettes, pipes, hookahs, and other such hung thick in the air, along with the smells of cooking meat and hot grease. 

There were round tables everywhere, each topped with a small lamp and surrounded by several people. The unlit stage and the noisy band pit lay across the room from the bar--and the bar was long and wide and looked to be made all of a single slab of some kind of polished sandstone. Behind the bar, a large entity with four burly arms worked a massive, flaming grill over which sizzled tantalizing hunks of meat, while other smaller cooks pattered about their duties with quantities of food. Waiters of several species bobbed among the crowds, carrying platters to and from the tables. 

Voices of all kinds rose in murmurs, chattering, drunken singing, and odd shouts, a cacophony of alien babble from many different types of throats. The restaraunt was both frightening and inviting, overwhelming and eerily familiar; one part nightclub, one part low-class tavern, one part steakhouse. 

"You finished gawking yet?" Kalifer's voice interrupted his observation, startling him. 

"Uh...yeah..." Still hesitant, Trunks followed his friend down the stairs and into the melee, sticking close to the big Saiyan to avoid being lost in the sea of creatures. 

"Hah! There's a couple seats right at the bar--let's grab 'em!" Kalifer picked up his pace, almost leaving Trunks behind as he made for the open spots. Arriving at the stone bar, he plunked himself down on a stool with a happy sigh. "Ahhh! Front row seats!" 

Trunks carefully perched himself on the adjacent stool, a slight eager smile just beginning to touch his lips. "What'll we order?" 

"Anything we want!" Kalifer replied with a grin. "Just don't eat the pickled vegetables." 

"Got it." 

"Hey!" Kalifer called out over the immediate din. "Who do I see for some grub?" 

The four-armed cook turned boredly to them. "What'll it be, boy?" 

Kal spread his arms. "A couple of the biggest slabs you got on the grill--and another couple for my pal here." 

"Aye, in a minute." 

With their meal ordered, Kalifer rubbed his hands together like a child at Christmas, licking his lips like a starving wolf. "Oh, this is gonna be good. Two steaks...I haven't eaten this well in _months!_ Man, I've missed Shanky's..." 

"Will two slabs be enough?" Trunks asked curiously, trying to peer around the four-armed alien's bulk to see what was on the massive grill. 

"For starters they will," Kalifer said with a secretive grin. "They make 'em big here. Sandlizard steaks--they come off like _this_." The Saiyan indicated a size about the length of Trunks' forearm. "And they're _thick_, too! Ah, smell that?" 

Trunks was already salivating with hunger, but the odor of freshly cooking meat was driving his Saiyan cravings wild. He nodded eagerly, nostrils flaring to catch the delicious smell. Even if it only took a few minutes...it was going to be a _long_ wait. 

So wait they did, and impatiently. Kalifer kept his tail confined to his waist but his fingers drummed the bar's surface, and Trunks' foot tapped against the stool's leg in a steady counter-rhythm. The music and the noise of the restaraunt seemed to drone together, until the four-armed cook turned to them carrying two plates, each filled with two of the largest steaks Trunks had ever seen. 

When the plates were set down before them, the young half-Saiyan all but pounced on his, scrabbling for fork and knife--his mother's human upbringing barely managed to remind him to even _use_ the utensils--and tearing into the meat with the viciousness of a predator claiming his prey after a long and tiresome hunt. Kalifer ate with a bit more poise, yet no less enthusiasm. 

_I never thought lizard meat could taste so good!_ Trunks thought half-coherently as he devoured his meal. _I never thought **anything** could taste so good! How I've missed real food!_

"Don't choke yourself," Kalifer cautioned around a mouthful of steak, between rapid bites. He swallowed, speaking briefly before shoving another chunk into his mouth. "You gorge like a starving Saiyan--be careful, you might not be able to handle so much." 

Trunks barely spared him a glance, polishing off the first steak and digging into the second without pause. _I **am** a starving Saiyan! You'd better believe I can handle this!_

He ate in large gulps, Saiyan-like, barely chewing the meat that he wolfed down. There was little need; his stomach could digest anything. Saiyans were natural carnivores, and as such, they didn't chew their food much either. 

He was almost surprised to find his plate suddenly empty. He'd devoured two giant slabs of sandlizard in only a few minutes, and was now licking his chops and looking about for more. 

"What'd I tell you about slowing down and enjoying your food?" Kalifer teased, little over halfway through with his second steak. 

"Can I get another?" Trunks asked eagerly. 

"Knock yourself out." Kalifer vaguely waved his fork at the grill. "We've got spare cash tonight--and we won't have another meal like this for a very long time. Enjoy yourself." 

Trunks' eyes lit up like lightbulbs, and he immediately ordered another pair of steaks. Kalifer chuckled as he ate, wondering at his small friend's appetite. Karaikoro had wolfed those steaks in record time; it would be very interesting to see if he could put away as much food as a grown Saiyan. Very interesting indeed. 

* * * * *

Everyone knows what Saiyans do to digest. 

Under normal circumstances, they get into a nice relaxing fight to settle their stomachs and help get the blood moving after a full meal. However, Trunks and Kalifer were in a restaraunt full of non-Saiyans who would probably not appreciate their idea of after-dinner activity. 

Saiyan bodies have certain priorities: Fight, eat, and sleep, in that order. 

Since they couldn't fight, were too full to eat, and would be stupid to sleep here, the two youths settled for the next best thing--they lounged against the bar with tall glasses of something marginally palatable, lazily watching the patrons of the establishment as well as the evening's entertainment on stage. 

Featured tonight was a pretty pair of roughly humanoid twin girls doing a lively dance with feathered sequin dresses--though with the beaked faces both of them sported, a number of those feathers probably weren't from the dresses. The place had quieted somewhat in the past couple of hours, many of the daytime customers staggering out and the nighttime ones settling in to drink and enjoy the show. 

"That was some good food," Trunks sighed quietly, leaning back against the bar and taking a long sip of his drink. "I haven't been this full in a long time, and it feels great." 

Kalifer belched in agreement; both Saiyans had eaten until they were completely sated, stomachs visibly gorged. They used up most of their budget on food, but the rewards were well worth it. A rousing fight would have been fun, followed by a good curl-up-and-snooze, but unfortunately that would have to wait until later. 

The twin bird-girls on stage finished their number, and the bandleader announced the next act in some incomprehensible native language. The stage lights dimmed to muted colors and the musicians played a somewhat slower tune as the new act danced onto the platform. 

Trunks blinked and stared, rather caught by the alien girl's looks. She amazingly resembled a humanoid cat, complete with velvety feline ears, emerald eyes, and prettily patterned fur. Her dance was delicate and enticing, her voice sweet and soft as she sang a pleasant tune. He couldn't understand the words, but he watched her dance with interest, following her movements from the graceful curve of her spine to the elegant arc and flick of her tail as it trailed her dance like a furry emphasis on each step. The martial artist in him thought she had a rather athletic refinement to her movements, while the male in him simply appreciated her poised beauty and the articulated curl of her tail... 

Kalifer nudged him, catching his eye with a sly look and a teasing whisper. "So, you like girls with tails, eh? Heh..." 

Trunks reddened at being caught staring, averting his eyes from the cat-girl. "No way!" he hissed. "She's...just...a good dancer." 

"Uh-huh...I was watching your eyes, squirt." 

"Kalifer..." Trunks growled softly. 

Snorting with his own muted laughter, the Saiyan let the subject drop. Trunks glared at him for a little while longer, but couldn't gather the courage to watch the rest of the cat-girl's performance. The most embarassing thing about Kalifer's teasing was that he'd been right--Trunks had found himself fascinated by the way the girl's furry tail had woven itself into her dance... 

_Ack..._ He downed the rest of his drink and turned back to the bar. _Dammit... I do **not** like fuzzy cat-girls._ He took a deep breath, glowering at his cup. _Girls with tails? No way...human girls don't have tails. I've lived all my life on Earth, and I was raised human. Me, like girls with **tails?** Come **on!**_

The cat-girl's song came to a close behind him, and Trunks breathed a sigh of relief as the next act came up--something lively and upbeat that sounded vaguely male. At least the cat-girl wouldn't distract him any more with her enticing tail... 

_Argh!_ He fought the impulse to bang his head against the bar and flagged down the nearest waiter-looking entity for a refill. _Now I've got girls with tails stuck in my mind! Jeeze. Maybe it's just a Saiyan thing..._

_Well, duh..._

A vague thought drifted into his head, something concerning the Saiyan species--of which his father was a member--and the scar on his own tailbone that marked where he lacked a certain appendage which, according to Kalifer, was quite important to a Saiyan. 

His next thought startled him, freezing his refilled drink halfway to his mouth. _If it's a Saiyan thing, then...maybe I'm **programmed** to look for girls with tails._

_"Well, **duh**..."_ repeated that same sardonic little head-voice that was beginning to sound a lot like himself on a really bad day. 

_Hell, that's just great,_ he groused mentally, and finished bringing his glass to his lips. _If that's the case, no wonder I never got a date on Earth--none of those girls were **interesting**..._ His own thoughts were starting to scare him, being rather spontaneous and morbid. He tried to balance out the weirdness his brain was producing by making excuses. _I was a little obsessed with Cell and the Androids at the time, too. It's not like there are any Saiyan girls gallivanting around the galaxy just waiting to be found. And I do **not** like fuzzy cat-girls; I know that for sure--there's plenty of **them** on Earth. So I guess it's just tails..._

_Great. I've discovered yet another hard-wired instinct I have to deal with. On top of the random urge to pick a fight, and pounce on anything that moves like prey. Just peachy. Now I have to meet a girl and make sure she has a tail before I can like her. I can just see that as first date material..._ He sighed morosely, taking another sip of his beverage, coming up with a universal explanation that summed up all his difficulties and that half the galaxy would understand. _It's just a Saiyan thing..._

_"As I said, **duh**,"_ that little head-voice nagged at him, still sounding eerily like a much harsher version of himself. 

Trunks sat up straight on the barstool, forcibly removing himself from the depths of that morbid contemplation he'd been sinking into. Scowling, he gave his half-empty drink a suspicious look and set it down on the bar--he wasn't positive if it was non-intoxicating or not, and who knew what alien liquor would do to his already uptight psyche? 

"That was weird," he muttered to himself, out loud to avoid getting scolded any further by his conscience...or whatever it was. 

Kalifer's grip on his arm startled him out of the rest of his reverie, abruptly reminding him of his surroundings. The bigger Saiyan rose from his stool and tugged Trunks' sleeve, trying to pull him along. "C'mon, Karaikoro. Come with me." 

Trunks gazed at him blankly. "What? Are we leaving? Where are you going?" 

Kalifer jerked his thumb toward one of the darker corners of the bar, where several beings were gathered around a table and making quite a bit of noise amidst the music. "They're having an arm-wrestling match over there. I thought we could earn us some money." 

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "You're going to bet on yourself?" 

Kalifer shrugged with a rather smug grin. "Well, maybe a little. Mostly I thought I'd bet on _you_." 

"_Me?_" Trunks gaped, still off-balance from his weird little bout of introspection and self-pity. "What the hell makes you think I want to get into an arm-wrestling contest with a bunch of aliens?" 

"We can get some more money for our next shore leave," Kalifer offered. "I don't know where we're going next, but if you've got money you can get anything." 

Trunks hesitated, reluctant. "But why me?" 

"What do you think the odds are gonna be that a little shrimp like you could beat some of those bad boys over there?" Kalifer grinned. "You're almost as strong as me--I bet you could beat quite a few of 'em. And I'll take the rest." 

Trunks glanced past his friend, at the rowdy table. "I dunno, Kal...what if some of them are too strong?" 

Kalifer snorted. "What, this space trash? Nothing in the galaxy is stronger than a Saiyan! Uh..." He looked chagrined at his own sentence, and glanced around nervously. "Damn...hope no one heard that." He lowered his voice. "Don't say anything about me being Saiyan--people usually don't react real well." 

"Kalifer..." 

"Oh, come on! We could use the money. With your appetite, there's no way we can feed both of us next shore leave." 

Point to Kalifer--that was a fact. If he wanted to stay fed in this little partnership, he'd better earn his keep. At last, Trunks sighed. "I guess I could help out a little. As long as we stay out of trouble." 

"Don't worry about a thing! Just let me do the talking." 

"Sure, I won't worry at all..." 

Kalifer led the way toward the shadowed table, shouldering through the outer ring of spectators wth a predatory grin. "Hey there," he greeted in a rough, challenging voice. "Who's the bookie for this match?" 

A yellow-skinned alien stood up, eyeing him--and he had the eyeing down pat, with six eyes in his skull. "That's me, stranger," he replied. "I'm taking the bets. What do you want to wager you can win?" 

The Saiyan reached behind him and grabbed Trunks roughly by the scruff. The half-Saiyan let out a surprised, indignant squawk as he was yanked half off his feet and shoved to the fore of the group. The bunch of large, muscly aliens looked down at him in disbelief as he collected himself and tried to shrug Kalifer's grip off his shoulders. 

"Not me," Kalifer replied coolly, still wearing that "I-know-something-you-don't-know" grin of his. "I want you to figure up some odds for my little pal here. He wants to join the game." 

_That_ got some more startled murmurs from the group of oversized beings--even a mocking laugh or two. Despite the fact that Trunks knew his own strength--and he knew that a Super Saiyan was by far stronger than anything here tonight--he began to feel like a mouse in the presence of a pack of wolves. The fact that the shortest of the competitors still topped him by a head or more did not help the feeling go away. 

"Don't waste my time, stranger," the bookie chortled, all six eyes somehow making his disdainful glare that much more disdainful. "We're having a _real_ competition. We don't hold kiddie contests--that little brat wouldn't last a second. But _you_ look like a tough fella--I'd wager you could earn yourself a deca or two." 

Kalifer tilted an eyebrow. "I probably could...but c'mon now, give my buddy a chance. Lay me some odds and let him try just once." He let his sharp canines show in his grin. "Unless all these big thugs are scared that a little twerp like Karaikoro here will beat them." 

"Kal..." Trunks growled. _Knock it off with the "little" thing!_

One of the big aliens stumped forward. "I'll take him up on it," the ugly brute sneered. "Just to put the little snert in his place--and get _you_ to shut your face and get out of our way." 

Kalifer actually smiled, quite pleased that he'd gotten results. "There you go, Bookie--you've got a challenger and this gentleman here has just accepted. Give us our odds, man, so I can make my bet. I'm sure you'd love to take my money." 

The yellow alien frowned, thought, and finally shrugged. "It's your cash, stranger. I've got all night." He sized up the big alien, then looked at Trunks. "I'd say he's got odds of about fifteen to one." 

Trunks practically choked. "I don't look _that_ weak, do I?" he sputtered. 

For the first time, Bookie looked him in the eye. "Hey, don't complain at me--I just call 'em as I see 'em. I don't happen to have a scouter with me, tiny, or I could give you a more accurate set of odds." His last sentence was just this side of mocking. 

Trunks shut his mouth with a growl, while Kalifer laid the rest of their cash down on the table. It was quite a respectable sum, and several eyes lit up when he let go of the money. Bookie gathered it up and counted it. "You sure you wanna lose this much, stranger?" the yellow alien asked. 

Kalifer shrugged. "It's my money." 

"Whatever you say. Alright, short stuff, have a seat." 

Trunks scowled at the moniker, but moved to sit at the opposite side of the table as the burly brute. 

"You don't need a booster seat, do you, little guy?" the ugly alien chortled. "I think we can find you a directory book somewhere." 

Now _that_ little jab was just enough to tick Trunks off. 

_**Enough** with the **little**,_ he thought with a scowl. No, he wasn't quite angry--when Saiyans got _mad_, everything within several kilometers would definitely know it--he was just...rather irritated. He'd had quite _enough_ of this group's humor at his expense, mocking his height. It was time to show these thugs that size doesn't matter. 

"I think I'll pass, thanks." Letting his teeth show in a snarl, he set his elbow to the table and extended his hand. "Ready?" 

"Your arm's funeral," the burly alien snorted, dwarfing Trunks' hand in his massive grip. 

Bookie gathered the rest of the bets--the other spectators were actually quite amused. When the final tally was made and the match declared--his ugly opponent was a being named Rago--Bookie announced the beginning of the contest. 

Trunks tensed the muscles of his arm, braced against Rago's considerable weight. The burly alien heaved to with a grunt, obviously expecting to knock Trunks through the table or some such--and was quite surprised when his arm simply _didn't move_. 

"C'mon, Rago, quit playin' around!" one in the observers called. 

"Yeah, flatten the little ant!" 

"Goferit, Rago!" 

"What the hell're ya doin'? Wastin' my money!" 

After some more straining, it began to sink into Rago's brain that his opponent's arm was not going to yield to his efforts. He became a little panicked at that--and even more panicked when Trunks actually gave him a small, sinister smile. 

"Is it my turn yet?" the purple-haired youth asked softly. 

"_Rgh_...huh?" 

Trunks' smile turned into a positively wicked Saiyan grin. Without changing his breathing or expression, he began to move his arm--and Rago found his own arm being forced inexorably toward the table. No matter how he tried, Trunks' deceptively small hand simply kept moving forward despite all of Rago's efforts, as smooth and immovable as a machine. 

The gathering of aliens was silent in shock as Rago's hand touched the table with an audible _thump_. 

"_Mas verrt'dango_..." someone muttered, probably their linguistic equivalent of "holy shit." 

For a few moments, the silence reigned. Then the entire group burst out with indignant disbelief, demanding another match, another bet--that was a fluke, no way it could be real. Bookie handed Kalifer his winnings wordlessly, all six eyes wide with astonishment. 

Trunks released Rago's hand, not even winded. Forcing down the big alien's hand had been as effortless as lifting an eighty-pound dumbell. He felt guiltily proud--proud to have shown off, guilty because he knew it was truly worthless against such a weak opponent. 

Kalifer grinned widely and began asking for any other takers. Bookie found himself swamped with bets, as entity after entity lined up for their chance to beat a rather scrawny-looking little purple-haired youth called Karaikoro. 

  
_To be continued..._


End file.
